The Last Contract
by NicolinaN
Summary: The story about two lost souls, a disastrous meeting, a match made in hell and about love, humanity and what it means to be human. It's about a coldblooded hitman and an unexpected hit.
1. The Last Contract

**Author's Note and Summary: **Vincent is a professional hit man. Upon facing this nights last hit, he starts questioning whether he can finish it. Along the way, he begins to question his whole way of life and the choices he has made. This story takes place two years after the movie, obviously Vincent didn't die; you don't die like that because you're shot through the right lung! AU. Vincent/OFC.

This has been through three lovely betas during the course of time: Rascalsbaby, Turncopper, and Romany. They are brilliant and remaining typos and other errors are entirely my fault.

**Disclaimer:** Sadly, I don't own Vincent and I make no money from this story.

-

**Chapter 1 The Last Contract**

It was late evening at Denny's Coffee House. The music had gone silent and she'd already turned off the lights. She preferred it when it was a little darker; it allowed her eyes some rest. The buzz from the evening's customers still rang in her ears and she enjoyed the silence; it was bliss. The neon lights from the street played in purple and blue across her face. Only a small lamp was shining at the counter, and to her left a ray of light fell in through the crack between the kitchen door and its frame, where the door was left a little open.

Sarah was counting the register before closing up. The night had been busy, and she was dying to get back home to her bed, to sink down into white, cool sheets with a beer and a little TV before sleep. It was already eleven p.m. and she still had some cleaning up to do.

Just as she pushed at the door to the kitchen, she heard the entrance door open, the small crack as its hinges moved, the slight rush of air and the increased noise from the traffic outside. Sarah froze, realizing she hadn't locked the door yet. But, to be honest, there were still a couple of minutes left before closing time.

Sighing, she turned around to face her last customer.

The put-on smile on her face became somewhat strained as she looked at the man who approached her. He appeared to be in his fifties or sixties, with his silver-grey beard and hair, but his controlled and exact moves betrayed him, he could be no older than forty at most.

Sarah felt a shiver run down her spine. She couldn't tell why, but his presence in the room didn't feel good. And he hadn't even looked at her yet! Instead, his eyes were constantly roaming the room.

She cleared her throat. "May I help you?"

_Please say no, please say no. Just ask for directions and be on your way. You don't need a coffee. Right? _

-

Denny's Coffee House, just before eleven p.m. He looked at the watch and then up and down the street again. No one was in sight. No one would see him enter. The target was in place. Three clean shots; two in the sternum, one in the head, then work would be done for tonight. After, he'd find a decent hotel close to the airport. There were no more flights out that night, but he planned to spend an hour in the hotel bar, and then enjoy a good night's sleep. He checked the watch on his wrist again and began to cross the street. Two minutes before closing time. No customers.

_Perfect. _

His mind cleared of stray thoughts. His eyes focused on the target; he could see the shape of it moving inside, behind the bar. The lights inside were down.

_How very convenient_.

A small noise from a nearby alley caught his attention, and his arm froze midway as he listened, trying to locate its source. He relaxed when he saw a cat exit the alley and run off in the opposite direction.

Pushing at the heavy glass door, he entered. He already knew where the target was located. He didn't need to look at it. Instead he looked around the room, noticed where the back door was, how the chairs and tables were arranged, listened for any sound that could indicate the presence of another person. All the time he kept track of the target in the corner of his eye. Everything was as it should be.

He was ready.

-

His head snapped in her direction at the sound of her voice, and she inhaled sharply as she met his eyes, the intensity with which he studied her was breathtaking. The moment ended and he smiled. It was a small smile that never reached his eyes. He licked his lower lip with the tip of his tongue, looked once more back at the entrance and approached her.

Sarah's feelings of uneasiness intensified. She moved a little closer to the kitchen door, stretching out a hand to let the tips of her fingers touch it. She wasn't sure what it was, but there was something about this man, something dangerous and, at the same time something vaguely familiar. She couldn't put the pieces together.

As his eyes locked with hers all the alarms in her body went off, and the only thing she wanted to do was run. Just run until she couldn't get further, until she was safe.

"Matter of fact you can."

Then everything happened fast. Within a blink of the eye, the man had produced a gun, pointed the barrel at her face and a 'poff' was heard. Sarah had dropped behind the counter at the same time as he'd moved and now she dove through the half open door to the left of her and threw herself at it from the other side. Frantically she fumbled with the locking mechanism, her shaking hands unwilling to obey at first. The shockwave from the shot reverberated through her body, as she scrambled as far away from the door as she could. Flinching when the door's handle was pressed down, she squeezed her eyes shut and prayed.

_Go away, go away, OhGodPleasegoaway!_

Hot tears burned on the inside of her eyelids, and she swallowed, trying to get her breathing back under control. Hiding under the bench in the corner, where she had pushed the garbage bin aside, she hugged her knees and tried to make herself disappear into the wall. There was nowhere she could go; the tiny kitchen didn't have any other exit as the emergency exit had been temporarily blocked a couple of weeks before due to a construction site in the adjacent building.

"Open the door."

His voice sounded calm and controlled, like he had all the time in the world. There was something about his voice; it was smooth and mild, just a little raspy, almost likeable.

"No fucking way! I've called the cops. You're not getting anything, they'll be here any minute!" she shouted back at the door, praying that he'd leave.

"No phone in there, Sarah."

She froze, suddenly feeling an urge to throw up. This was not just a robbery attempt. _He knows my name! How does he know that? I'm not wearing a name badge! _What the fuck was going on? And it was true that she didn't have a phone in the small space where they prepared the little food, mainly sandwiches and salads, they served.

Sarah's whole body went numb with fear, as she began to realize he had come… _for me…_

Suddenly, two muffled bangs sounded and the wood around the lock flew through the room. Sarah crawled further into the corner where she was hiding. The door flew open, and the man came into her vision once more. He held his stance almost like a dancer, quickly searching the room and immediately finding her huddled in the corner.

With the gun aimed steadily at her, he slowly advanced, eyebrows raised and a hint of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

"Playing a little hide and seek, are we?"

She could see his finger about to squeeze the trigger and suddenly it struck her. "V-Vincent…?"

He froze, the barrel of the gun still directed at her. His intense eyes focused on her, narrowing, like he was reading her.

"How do you know my name?"

Sarah swallowed. Unexpectedly, she had gained some time. Let's see what she could make out of it.

"I'm Sa-" Her voice hitched in her throat, "Sarah James. You-you already know my name…"

He frowned slightly and nodded.

"We grew up on the same street. I'm Simon's little sister."


	2. Coffee For Two

**Chapter 2 Coffee For Two**

The gun swayed slightly, but he didn't lower it. Instead he stepped closer, nailing her with his gaze.

"Don't know any Simon."

Her heart sank. She was running out of time. Her eyes were glued to his finger, which never left the trigger. All it would take was a twitch of that finger.

"Yes, you do!" She talked fast, with a feeling that if she didn't say this quick enough, her moment would be gone. "You two hung out when you lived in our street. You know. You were seventeen, I think... Simon..." Her voice had a slight begging undertone now. "Tall, dark hair, thin, you were always together…"

_Please?_

"S-" He shook his head, barely visible. "Simon?" It was more of a statement than a question.

"You're Sarah?" He cocked his head and lowered his gun, letting it hang by his side. "I remember you. Skinny little girl."

Sarah really didn't want to get into the past. _Skinny! Well, there was more than that to remember. Skinny… huh! He hadn't been a sight for Gods either. Well, he had. Not at first… but later._

"Why are you here? With a gun? Pointed at me?"

"It's not pointed at you."

"Well, you know what I mean!"

"Hired for a job."

"A what?!" Sarah felt the blood rush from her head, making it spin, and her cheeks paled significantly. "A job? What job? This is insane. What are you?" she breathed. Her nostrils flared with the effort to draw in enough air to support her brain functions and prevent her from passing out.

"Well, obviously you pissed off the wrong people at some point in your life, Sarah."

He offered her his hand to help her up from the floor. Sarah took it, and couldn't help but notice that it was warm, dry and strong. As she got on her feet, she quickly pulled her hand out of his grip and brushed off some invisible dirt from her black skirt.

Sarah bit her lower lip and looked up at him. He crowded her in the small space, making her feel cornered. Intimidated.

"Are you going to kill me?" she asked, still trembling visibly, wishing he would take a step back so she could breathe, or get on with it and put her out of this misery. She felt lightheaded, not knowing how long she could last, standing like this.

Vincent noticed her hyperventilating. "You feel stressed?"

"St-stressed?" she stuttered, almost breaking out into a nervous giggle. "Yes, I am stressed. I'm scared to death!"

"Good, might not have to use this then," Vincent said and waved the gun. Sarah just kept looking wild-eyed at him, almost hypnotized by the big gun in his hand.

"Come on," he said, and laid one hand on her shoulder for support. "Just breathe. In and out, in and out, relax."

She tried to obey and took long slow shaky breaths, trying to gain some control over her body. His hand lay heavy on her shoulder, and the warmth from it radiated through her thin white blouse.

"Please, Vincent, please don't kill me!" Hot tears started to trickle down her cheeks and her voice became thick with emotion. "I don't even understand why you're here. There can't be anyone who'd want to hurt me!"

Vincent lifted his hand from her shoulder to her face, and caught one of her tears with the back of his crooked index finger. The trail from his touch left a burning mark on her skin. He rolled his index finger against his thumb, as if touching the tear.

"I'd say there is, Sarah. People don't hire me to baby-sit."

In spite of her fear and the absurdity of the situation, she had to smile. "I can believe that!"

He sighed and tucked the gun away somewhere by his waist, under the dark grey suit jacket. "Make us some coffee?"

She nodded. Sure, she could definitely use some herself. Or preferably, something stronger. _Hell, wish I had some… NO, left that behind!_ _Not going down that road again._

Sarah's hands trembled as she prepared the coffee machine, putting coffee in the holder and skimming some milk for two lattes. She had been doing the same throughout the entire evening. It was a simple thing, to continue what she was so used to; no need to think. Still, she almost missed when the steam pressure rose, and just barely remembered to turn the tap to ´on´ so the water could flow.

She carefully avoided any thoughts on her current situation. Pictures of the gun, pointed at her face, flashed before her mind, but pushing them out of her head, she concentrated hard on making coffee instead.

He had let her go, finally, and retreated out to the bigger room. Seemingly not paying her any attention, he wandered around, checking out the photos in black and white on the walls. He also read some of the short notes the customers were allowed to write to each other or to no one in particular, and that were stuck on the walls here and there.

While filling two large glasses with the caramel-brown liquid, she kept an eye on Vincent. He seemed to be constantly checking out his surroundings, glancing out the windows at the front, checking back at the rear entrance, and the door to the toilets.

Sarah lifted the glasses but had to set them back down again, before the scalding hot content spilled all over her hands. She still shook too much. Inhaling deep and then exhaling slowly, she gave it another try and noticed to her satisfaction that she managed it better this time.

-

_Sarah. _

Yeah, he remembered her. She had been a kid last time he saw her. Eight, nine, maybe ten years old. Skinny little thing, short blonde hair, haunted eyes. She'd always wanted to hang with him and her brother. He couldn't remember, but thinking back on it, he didn't really recall any little girlfriends of hers. Well, if she'd been lonely it hadn't been his problem.

He snorted silently as he thought of the little street with the small, white, wooden houses, their little white fences, and all the little white people. Happy Street in Pleasantville. Or whatever the fuck it had been. The family there had been nice, not that it mattered; he had been out of reach even before he got there the first time. He was used to hell, expected hell. Kindness wasn't an option, couldn't count on it to last.

So he didn't bother.

He and Simon had had some good times, though. They'd had the same outlook on life. Grand plans. How to get the fuck out of there. Goals. How to make money. Big money.

_Wonder what happened to him?_

His thoughts strayed back to the present situation. Sarah. Still skinny. Still scared. Same haunted eyes.

_Did anything ever change?_

-

Vincent spun around when she came closer, almost scaring her into dropping the glasses again. Trembling out of control, she was burned as the hot liquid spilled over her hands, and sat the glasses down harder on the table than she had intended.

"Ow, shit!" she burst out.

"No-one would believe you get paid to do this," Vincent snickered.

Blowing at her fingers, she snapped back before thinking. "Well, my customers normally don't wave a gun in my face." She immediately regretted her words, scared they'd make him angry. But he seemed indifferent.

They stood at each side of the small table and stared at each other. Sarah was struck by how good looking he was. He was prematurely grey, but his features were well preserved. He gave the impression of someone who was at ease with himself. And with that suit that looked like it had been poured on him… he looked flawless.

She thought of her own appearance and was reminded she hadn't been as lucky.

_How can he be so calm? _That scared her, almost more than the gun.

"Sit down, Sarah."

Slowly, she pulled out the chair and sat on the edge of the seat. Not wanting to relax, not able to relax. Vincent also sat and took a sip of his hot coffee, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Vincent… what happened?" _No, that came out wrong! Why are you here? Can I please go now? I don't want you to be here. Or maybe I would have wanted that… But not now, not knowing that the next time I got to see you would be when you came to kill me!_

"What do you mean?" He looked coolly at her, not showing any emotion or any compassion.

Sarah's fear came rolling back; her mouth suddenly got very dry, and she felt like she was being suffocated. She had never liked narrow spaces and this situation was beginning to feel claustrophobic. Her inner turmoil turned into a suppressed panic.

"I need to get out of here," she whispered. "Can I please go now? Can I-…"

"No. You cannot." His voice left no room for misunderstanding.

Her heart felt like it was going to burst out through her chest. It was beating wildly as she tried to assess her options. _He is going to kill me. He could have let me go. But he can't. What game is he playing? Why are we having coffee? _Remembering the front door was still unlocked, she tried to count the steps from the chair to the door. Seven normal, perhaps. Three leaps. She could do it. She could make a run for it. Out on the street it would only be a few meters before she would reach the boulevard. There she'd be safe with the people around; someone would have to help her. Vincent asked something, but she didn't hear it.

Sarah jumped in her seat when he leaned over and gripped her wrist, not painfully tight, just enough to get her attention.

"… happened to your brother?"

She looked at him like he had just arrived from outer space. Here he was, threatening her very existence in one moment, and in the next he wanted to chit-chat! She cleared her throat and slowly released her arm from his burning grip.

"He-e…"

Raising so sudden her chair tipped over, she jumped for the door. In the corner of her eye, she saw Vincent as a blur of movement, and then heard a crash as the table flew to the side, sending the glasses to the floor. Not until she reached the door did she realize it opened inwards, and that she didn't have enough time. With panicky movements, she tried to pull the door open, but was interrupted by a hard body that flew through the air and came crashing into her, smashing her against the door. Her head and shoulder took the greater impact before she fell to the floor with Vincent on top of her.

He grabbed her by the collar of her blouse and shook her. She could feel the cold, hard metal from his gun, pressing at her temple. Squeezing her eyes shut, she didn't dare to open them. He was no doubt furious, and she would now die.

"Very stupid move, Sarah James."

Her eyes flew open with surprise. He sounded so calm! With the lights from the street playing across his face, she could now see his intense green eyes staring down at her. Measuring her. His upper lips curled, baring his teeth, and his eyes narrowed. At that very moment, a brief flash of insanity seemed to pour through his gaze, then it turned back to its normal cold stare.

"Do something like that again, and you will be dead. Don't try me." The last thing said between clenched teeth.

_What does it matter? You'll kill me anyway! That's what you came to do. Why do you want to talk?_

But all that came out was a nod. And a sigh of relief as his gun was tucked away.

Vincent stood and gave her his hand to help her up. Sarah didn't take it, though. Shuffling her limbs together, she pushed her aching body up from the floor. Touching her tender forehead, she realized there'd be a bruise. As Vincent's hand came up to touch her face, she flinched but tried to stay still. With the tip of his right index finger, he traced the outline of the ugly scar that was forever etched there, where the whole world could see it. His finger, surprisingly gently, caressed it from her forehead, past her right eyebrow, just brushing her eyelashes, which made her blink involuntarily, and then down along her cheek until it ended right above her jaw line.

Sarah's heart pounded. She felt uneasy, undergoing this examination. The urge to turn her head away was strong, but she didn't dare.

"Life has not been good to you," he concluded. The unexpected gentleness of his voice made her heart crumble, and she burst into tears.

"Shh, shh," he hushed, and lay his arms around her. She stiffened and didn't move at first. The awkwardness with which he held her made it obvious this was an unusual position for him as well. Hesitantly, Sarah laid her cheek to rest at his muscular shoulder. Even through the shoulder pad of his suit jacket she could tell he was a well built man, and she chastised herself for even noticing.

They just stood there, unmoving, for a few moments and then he let go. Looking over his shoulder at the mess in the room behind them, then back at her, he uttered probably the last words she would have expected to hear in that moment.

"Do you like jazz?"


	3. Inquiries

**Chapter 3 Inquiries **

"What?" She almost laughed, but stopped herself. She didn't want to provoke him.

"Can't stay here, can we? And you look like you could use something stronger than coffee anyway."

_Read my mind…_

"Yes." She cleared her throat. "As a matter of fact I do like jazz."

She was rewarded with the most beautiful smile. This time it reached his eyes and his whole face transformed. The fine lines around his eyes turned into wrinkles from a life of laughter. She couldn't believe what she saw. Suddenly, a good memory came back, and with it the long forgotten butterflies in her stomach.

-

She'd been nine and he'd been seventeen, one year older than her brother, and they'd both adored him. This was the second time he'd lived with the Parsons, two houses down from theirs.

First time around had been two years earlier. He had been more of a child then. They'd been building secret tree houses in the woods, playing hide and seek and carving messages into the trees. Vincent had shown them how to catch rabbits and, to her despair… how to kill them. They'd had one everlasting summer of fun before school had started that fall, and he'd gone back to his family again; at least that was what she'd known at the time. Later she'd learned it had been only him and his father. At fifteen his face had been full of acne and he'd been shy and a bit clumsy.

When he'd come back at seventeen, he'd been devastatingly handsome and had transformed into a man, a much darker version of his previous self; his appearance less playful, but more intense, and exciting. And Sarah had fallen hopelessly in love.

He'd been kind with her and given her sweets on occasions. Sometimes he would lift her up and tickle her, and she would get feelings she hadn't yet had the vocabulary to describe. Most of the time though, he and Simon would disappear and be gone for hours and hours. Sometimes they hadn't come back until the next morning.

She hadn't known what they'd been doing, but judging from her parents' reactions, it couldn't be good. And oh, how she wished she had been older and accepted as one of them.

One night, she'd awoken to the sound of their voices in the garden. In her pajamas, she'd climbed out her window, over the roof and down along the fire escape. The last few feet however, had no steps and she hadn't dared to jump. Vincent had discovered her, and instead of getting angry with her for sneaking up on them, he'd taken her in his arms and lifted her to the ground. She'd already been shivering from the cold night air, so he'd offered her his leather jacket, pilot style, and wrapped it tightly around her. Sarah had been sitting there in the night, with her legs pulled up underneath her, surrounded by the warm scent of Vincent. She'd tried to listen to what they were talking about, but the late night hour soon caught the better of her, and she'd fallen asleep, trustingly leaning against his shoulder.

A year later he'd turned eighteen, and had been gone, just as suddenly as he had appeared in their lives. She'd never seen him again.

Until tonight.

-

"I know a good place a few blocks from here. We can even walk there. But Sarah…" He turned serious again, "Don't pull any stunts. Don't try to get away, and don't attract anybody's attention. Not out in the street and not in the club. I'm sure you don't want innocent people's lives on your conscience."

Once more, her heart sank and turned into a lump of granite. Would this rollercoaster of pain never end? Just as she thought they were on friendly terms, he again transformed into the cold killer.

With her face blank, she nodded obediently. "I won't."

Vincent looked around the room, at the fallen chairs and table, the shattered glass and the coffee on the floor, then over at the holes in the kitchen door. "We need to clean this place up before we leave. Can't leave it like this. There will be people here tomorrow again, right?"

_I'll be here tomorrow, to open it up. Or won't I, Vincent?_

She blinked rapidly, trying not to show the tears that threatened to form in her eyes. "Yes," she said numbly.

"Start with this room. I'll take care of the door."

While Sarah mopped the floor and restored the order in the small café, Vincent unhinged the heavy door to the kitchen and placed it next to the front door. After they were done, he inspected their work. Sarah looked around too; apart from the missing kitchen door, there was no trace of the horror, the fighting, and the tears. It looked just like any other night after closing time.

Deceptively normal.

They left and Sarah locked up. Vincent carried the damaged door with him, and dumped it in a trash bin in a nearby alley.

It was bliss to be out in the fresh air. She couldn't get enough of the freedom. She didn't think she could ever set foot in the coffee shop again. The feeling only lasted for a couple of minutes though; then Vincent put his arm around her waist.

"Relax," he whispered in her ear. "Behave, and you'll be fine."

"Liar," she whispered to herself. She hadn't intended it to be heard, but he chuckled low at her response.

"You think I am, little Sarah?"

"I'm not little!"

He squeezed her waist harder. "No, you aren't, are you?"

His grip made her skin tingle and her breath hitch in her chest; she didn't want to feel that! She didn't want to remember the young Vincent, the man she'd had such a hopeless crush on when she was a mere child. This wasn't him! And she sure wasn't that girl any more! Still, he smelled the same, sounded the same, and she could even sense a hint of that dry humor of his.

Sarah licked her lips and tried to get a grip. Here she was, walking to some jazz club with a man she didn't know any longer… a man who had threatened her with a gun less than an hour ago. _This is not good!_ _Who is he and what does he want with me? Why did he come to kill me to begin with?_

"Vincent-" She hesitated. "Why did you come to the coffee shop?"

"You know why."

She shook her head repeatedly. "No! I don't! I haven't done anything to you, or to anyone else. Why do you want me dead? Surely there must be a mistake?"

"Don't want you dead'"

"Who does then?" She had raised her voice in frustration.

"Keep your voice down, Sarah," Vincent replied coolly.

"Who does?" she moaned. She was losing it. They were out on the street, a boulevard, with people, trees, and cars. Still she felt trapped, as if she was still caught in that small kitchen space with him towering her.

"I never meet my clients and I never ask questions. Once the contract is on, it's unstoppable. Risk management."

"What?" she whined, "What are you, Vincent? What has become of you? Are you some kind of hitman?"

"You wanna call it that – sure. People pay me lots of money to get rid of their problems."

"Problems…" she whispered. "How did this happen? I remember you, you were so nice."

Vincent looked somewhat irritated. "I think your remembrance is colored by your emotions from that time."

Sarah felt like he had hit her. "What?!"

He looked at her with an unreadable expression on his face. His dark green eyes flashed. "As I recall, you blushed every time I got near, and you always seemed to be at my feet whenever I looked down."

She hated him at that moment. Hated how he, in a few words, had turned a beautiful memory into something filthy. Yanking, she tried to free herself from his grip, with the only result being that he held her tighter. His fingers dug deep and painfully in the skin of her waist. Their actions had made her blouse slide out of the lining of her skirt, and his fingers now burned into her bare skin.

"Don't!" he snarled, looking up and down the street. "We're almost there. Get yourself in order, you look like shit."

"Well, thank you very much," she sneered.

With unsteady hands, Sarah combed her fingers through her hair, and almost jumped out of her skin as Vincent tucked some strands of hair behind her ear. She gently rubbed underneath her eyes to remove possible residues of mascara and tucked her blouse back into the skirt.

When she was done, he looked her up and down, and then nodded approvingly.

Not until now had she bothered to think of where he had brought her. When she looked up, they stood in front of the "M.D". _So, the bastard has good taste in clubs!_ She hadn't been here herself, but she had heard it was a real watering hole for jazz lovers. Great artists. All the East coast's greatest were supposed to have played there.

Vincent laid his hand on her lower back as they approached the doorman. She had a feeling the gesture was not only to be a gentleman, or appear to be one, it was a warning: I'm right here, don't mess up.

**-**


	4. And All That Jazz

**Chapter 4 And All That Jazz **

"Oh, wow!"

It slipped out of her before she could stop herself. The pulse of the loud music tore through her body, her heart immediately assuming its beat. It was beautiful. The club was a lot smaller than she had expected. Smoke from numerous cigarettes lay heavy in the air. There were more people than she'd have expected on a Thursday night. Didn't people have jobs and school and stuff? This crowd seemed to live by its own rules; dancing and drinking like there were no tomorrow.

She already loved the place. Pity she was here with him. _Thanks to him._

-

He didn't have a solid plan.

For the first time in probably twenty years, he didn't have a plan.

So - he hadn't killed her. He never questioned a contract. It was all just flesh anyway; everyone dies in the end. What did it matter on the whole, that he helped a few people meet their destiny a little in advance?

It wasn't really her, he realized. It was him.

He had turned old early, leaving childhood probably at the age of ten. It had taken a few more years out of necessity, but after that he hadn't looked back once. And now they were all dead, for one reason or another. No one to ask, no one to blame.

_But here she is. _

She had known him then, before. Before he had turned cold.

Psychologists back at the agency had called him a psychopath – well, whatever made them happy. He was indifferent. They'd had good use for him though. He was the best at his line of work.

Then.

Now.

It was just work.

_I haven't killed her. _

He hadn't recognized her at first. Not until she'd said his name. She didn't look anything like that trusting little child he remembered. She appeared worn out. Beaten. And someone had put a contract on her. What had she been through?

-

Vincent nodded at the woman behind the bar and guided them both to a table in the rear of the main room. Back against the wall, she noticed. She sat down and realized she hadn't brought her bag. It was still back at the café. A beautiful, tall blonde came to take their orders.

"You look like you're thirsty, honey," she said, addressing Vincent and smiling flirtatiously. For a moment, Sarah could see Vincent through the other woman's eyes and felt an unexpected surge of jealousy. _Ridiculous_! She waved it off.

"Just a club soda, thanks," he said and fired off one of his rare smiles.

The blonde looked at Sarah. "Whiskey," she muttered. "Make it a double."

"Sure, hon." The waitress glanced once more in Vincent's direction and was gone. Vincent seemed to be in a trance, already absorbed by the pulsating, irregular music from the stage up front.

"It's behind the notes, in the spaces," he said, still intent on the musicians. Then he turned to look at her, and her breath caught in her chest. It felt like he looked into the depths of her soul, as if she didn't have to try to be someone she wasn't. Not like she always did when she was out on dates...

_Snap out of it! This isn't a date you stupid little bitch! You're his prey! _

Their drinks came and he never took his eyes off her.

Sarah reached for her whiskey and gulped it down with a couple of burning-hot swallows. Her face turned red for a moment, and her eyes filled with tears from the effort of not choking, then she stared challengingly back at him. _Say something then, reprimand me!_ He didn't, instead he raised one eyebrow, waved for the waitress and gestured to the glass: one more.

They sat silent for a few minutes; Vincent's foot was tapping restlessly with the rhythm of the music. "Let's dance." He rose and offered her his hand. Sarah was already beginning to feel the effects of the alcohol and didn't object. _Well, if my life's gonna go to hell, it might as well do it with a dance!_

He slid his arm around her from behind and maneuvered her to the dance floor. She could feel his hard chest pressing at her back, and the arm around her waist held her tight. Sarah stiffened, but having already felt his strength earlier she was wise enough not to resist him. He did what he wanted, took what he wanted. She was glad she wasn't dead; a little dancing wasn't that bad. To be honest, she couldn't remember the last time a man had wanted to dance with her.

The band's horn section came into a mad crescendo, competing with each other on who could play louder and harder.

The crowd around them got wilder and everybody glistened with perspiration. Vincent however, didn't follow. He spun her around and pressed her gently against his chest, beginning a slow dance, moving at half the speed the musicians and everybody else kept. Almost in slow motion, he guided her over the dance floor, sliding elegantly between the dancing couples.

The music almost put her in a trance, and everything that had happened suddenly seemed unreal. Sarah closed her eyes and began, in spite of herself, to relax. Vincent was even more beautiful than she remembered; he had aged with grace and had a very impressive physique. Here she was, in a position she had dreamed of achieving all those years ago: tightly pressed to the man of her dreams and having his full attention. Her mind reeled at that thought: what kind of attention was it? She couldn't allow herself to fall for the deceptive normality of his behavior – the dancing, and his smooth manners - these last minutes.

_He came to kill me!_

If she allowed though, for only one moment, the little girl in her to come through; to just indulge... A bit shaky, she inhaled his scent; at the nape of his neck there was a masculine air she vaguely recognized. Without knowing it, she pressed harder against him, finding comfort in the closeness of another human being.

Of course he had to ruin it.

"What happened to your brother, Sarah?"

_Oh no! Oh fuck! Why did he have to bring that up? Couldn't he have forgotten about that?_

-

Simon had left home at eighteen. Sarah had been eleven, and she had never felt so betrayed. Simon had been her everything. He'd taken care of her, looked after her, cared for her. He'd been the only one that ever did. After being gone for four years, he'd suddenly showed up one night, looking miserable. The scars on his arms and face evidence enough of what kind of life he lived.

He had snuck in that night through her bedroom window. They'd talked for hours and hours, until dawn.

"You've grown," he'd said, then given her a hug and swung his long skinny legs up on her bed.

Sarah had pulled the blanket around her body, distancing herself a little. "Well, you've been gone for a while."

"I have, haven't I?" He'd laughed softly and then smothered a cough. He hadn't seemed well. Sarah hadn't asked.

"Why the fuck did you come back? Mom and Dad'll go nuts if they see you around."

"I just had to get some rest, Sar," he'd sighed, and coughed some more. "Just some rest."

"Well you can't have it here. You left," she'd whispered hoarsely. The accusation had hung almost palpable in the air between them.

"Had to, you know. Just had to. If I hadn't, I would have killed him…" Simon had looked tormented; the pain and self -loathing obvious in his eyes.

She'd nodded. They'd had a lot in common, too much for anyone to bear. "Yeah… I know." That was all that had needed to be said.

They'd talked the rest of the night. Old memories. About Sarah's school. Possible boyfriends. Friends. They hadn't said anything about Simon's previous whereabouts. He hadn't mentioned it and Sarah had never asked. Probably neither had wanted to break the fragile peace between them.

At dawn the next morning, cops had stormed their house and arrested her older brother.

-

Sarah closed her eyes and tried to avoid his gaze. It was clear, though, that Vincent wasn't going to let it pass. He stopped dancing and held up her chin.

"Look at me."

She did.

"Answer the question."

"What question?" she said, trying to play dumb.

His grip at her chin hardened. "Sarah," he said with a warning flash in his eyes.

"He's dead, Vincent!" Her voice cracked. "He's dead." She looked away with pain evident on her face.

Vincent considered her, biting slightly at his lower lip before he spoke. "And you haven't mourned him a day since?"

Sarah didn't see the brief look of sympathy that flew past his face. She went rigid and tried to pull away, with the only result that his grip around her back hardened.

"Do not attract attention," he warned calmly.

"Well, don't be such an asshole then!" she spat. "What the hell's the matter with you? How can you be so cold? Do you have human emotions in there? Is there anybody home?" She tried to knock at his head with her fist, but he caught it in a vice grip in mid air.

"Sarah, I was being ironic, OK? Relax; don't fight wars you can't win." He leaned over and whispered in her ear. "I am the one with the gun."

"Vinc-" She couldn't continue. Her head was spinning.

Vincent led her off the dance floor, back to their table where a glass of beautiful golden Irish whiskey awaited her. Sarah lifted it with trembling hands and drank the liquid with a couple of big gulps. The glass rattled against the table's polished surface as she sat it back down. She flinched when Vincent took her hands in his and held them tight. Her first instinct was to pull away, but suddenly she got tired of fighting. And he was right, he did have the gun. Why did she even bother?

Leaning over the table, Vincent locked his eyes with hers. At first he didn't say anything, just kept studying her, and she found herself mesmerized by his intense dark green pools. He squeezed her hands before letting them go. "Talk." That was all he said, but she knew - somehow she knew - it was for her. He wasn't really that curious.

And she told him. She told him everything that had happened during those years. How Simon had disappeared and they hadn't heard a single word from him. Their parents had said the most horrible things; he was this and he was that. She hadn't wanted to listen. He had been her idol, her hero, _her brother_. Slowly that picture had faded though, replaced by anger and hate, which is just the other side of the coin. When a little sister gets betrayed by someone she looks up to so much, that love can easily turn into hatred. Then he'd reappeared just a suddenly as he had disappeared. Turned out though, he hadn't been coming home. He hadn't come to see her. He'd just been running from the police.

The police had come all right.

Simon had been charged with drug dealing. He'd just been a small time dealer and had been offered a deal; a shortened time in jail if he gave away the bigger fish. And he had. He'd sold everybody out. Simon was never really that smart. They'd found his battered body in the showers one morning, two years later, just three days before he had served his time. He had been beaten so badly, not a single bone in his body had been whole.

Sarah's guilt had been overwhelming. She had been so angry with him after the arrest; she hadn't spoken to him since. And now it was too late. Everything was too late.

Tears were rolling down her cheeks as she spoke, gathering in a pool under her chin, and one big drop after the other fell on her hands, which were tightly clenched in her lap. When she stopped speaking, he offered her his napkin and her drink. She wiped her nose and drank the rest of the clear, golden liquid, enjoying how it burned her throat. It made her feel alive.

She had no clue how much time had passed, but as she looked up she could see there were fewer people in the club now. And the music had softened. A single trumpet was playing a sad tune; then it was joined by the quiet rhythmic beat of percussions; the bass followed and fell away. The music came in waves, in an almost random, but still perfect, pattern.

Vincent noticed her attention on the music and something glittered in his eyes. With a soft smile, he took her hand. "Dance?"

She nodded.

This dance was much different from their last. Vincent didn't hold her like he thought she was going to run away any second. His gentle support at her lower back was perfectly balanced as he led and she followed. _How does he do this? _He was a good dancer, making her own stumbling footing seem almost experienced and not as clumsy as it normally was.

Exhausted, she relaxed in his arms, allowing him to take over. Her body felt heavy and almost numb, but he maneuvered her in a dance so slow they barely moved at all. It was almost a sensual feeling, the stubble at her cheek, his scent. She loved his scent; it was as if it had always surrounded her like it did now. The hand at her back slowly slid higher and his hold tightened. All nerve endings in her body came to life, sending impulses constantly from where his hand was. With his arm now all the way around her back, he held his hand just below the swell of her breast. She could barely breathe any more from all the intense sensations that coursed through her body; pain, relief, the remains of fear, all the memories, good and bad, closeness, his intoxicating scent, his touch...

When the music stopped, he let her go abruptly and just looked at her for an endless moment. Then he turned all business like again. "We need to get moving."

_Oh God! _

Her fear was back.


	5. Rememberance of an Angel

**Chapter 5 Remembrance of an Angel**

"Please, Vincent, you don't have to do this! It was – interesting to meet you and all, but we can go our separate ways now!" She spoke fast as he, seemingly gentle but in reality unyielding, maneuvered her out of the club. Vincent nodded at the bouncer at the door. Sarah almost got the impression they knew each other.

He was smiling; but as they got back out on the street, his smile faded.

"That is not an option."

_No, NO! This can't be happening! He really is going to – do this… _

"Where do you live? You do live alone, right?"

"Y- yes, why?" Then it dawned on her: "Oh, NO, I'm NOT taking you to my place!"

"Yes, you are," he answered coolly.

"Why?" Everything inside of her screamed with fear. _Because he's going to kill you there!_

"Because I say so."

"Vincent, please, I don't want to do this, you're scaring me." Sarah pleaded with him. "Can I please just go? I'll disappear; no one will know you didn't… fulfill your contract…"

"Out of options, Sarah. You don't have a choice. Just roll with it." He took a firm but not painful grip on her arm. "You better come now, before people take notice and I'll have to start shooting."

Sarah whimpered but did as she was told. They walked in silence for a block or two. There wasn't a lot of traffic; even the cabs seemed to have shut down business for the night.

Sarah's mind was frantically working on a way out. Could she just run? No, he'd shoot her in the back… And where would she go? Most likely, he already knew where she lived, or could find out easily. And perhaps there would be others – later. Someone wanted her dead, had put a price on her head… She laughed bitterly to herself. _Doesn't that sound melodramatic?_

_**-**_

He'd have to kill her.

Of course he'd have to kill her. In his line of work, there simply was no room for failure. Letting her go wasn't an option. Vincent cursed. He fucking liked her! She reminded him of – him. Himself. She made him remember things, good things he'd forgotten about.

Vincent sucked some air through his teeth and sighed. Well, he'd liked Daniel Baker too. The talented jazz musician in LA that night, two years ago. He'd played the trumpet so beautifully it still gave Vincent chills, remembering it. Hadn't stopped him. Damn nearly did, though. That had been the first time he'd ever hesitated to kill. He never let anything personal interfere. It was easy enough when one didn't have personal connections.

No attachments.

There had been a woman once. Way back, long before he'd begun working in the private sector. Must have been fifteen years ago. She'd been special to him. It'd actually hurt when he'd learnt she was the enemy.

She'd never seen him coming.

After that he never got involved. It wasn't worth it.

Everything, everyone.

Would just die.

Betray you.

Or both.

He'd grant Sarah the same treatment, though. He could do that for old time's sake – spare her the fear at her last moments – not letting her know when it happened.

-

Suddenly, as they passed an alleyway, two dark figures stepped out in front of them. Sarah staggered backwards as she saw the guns in their hands. Vincent didn't flinch; he just looked casually up and down the street they were on. The two guys – not much more than kids, she realized as the streetlights illuminated their faces - waved with the guns for Vincent and Sarah to step into the dark alley.

"Gimme your wallets, assholes!" one of them barked in a harsh tone, trying to sound like a badass. They both looked like junkies; one had a constant twitch in his scrawny face, and the other really could've used a shower. _Just two pathetic kids._ In spite of the situation, Sarah felt sorry for them.

Vincent held out both his hands calmly, palms down, as if reassuringly saying OK, OK, and made a slow move towards the side of his body with his right hand. Sarah, naively believing he went for his wallet, never saw it coming. At an almost unreal speed, he disarmed the first guy and shot him in the chest. While he was still falling to the ground, looking surprised, Vincent shot the other guy with two in the chest and one in the head. All three hit before the man had even begun falling. Sarah yelped in shock. As Vincent walked calmly towards the first guy, who lay writhing in pain, she bolted.

Sarah ran, faster than she'd ever run before in her life, through the long, dark alley towards the light at the other end. Her lungs already burned from lack of oxygen. This was her only chance, or she would face the same destiny as those men. She couldn't even begin to guess why he hadn't killed her yet, but she knew it was going to happen. _Him shooting… totally cold-blooded…_ _The way he killed them… without hesitation…_

Her legs almost gave out as she heard a noise behind her. Stumbling, she turned her head and saw Vincent coming at her with the gun. Running like a machine, his legs and arms pumping, he approached fast.

_Too fast!_

A whimper escaped her throat as she willed her feet to keep moving. All of a sudden, her legs were kicked out from underneath her and she tumbled to the ground, almost producing a full roll before her body hit the asphalt, face down.

Vincent was on her in an instant. Grabbing her shoulder, he turned her over on her back. He stood above her, one leg at each side of her torso and the gun pointed at her face once more.

"No, no, no, no," Sarah moaned, and tried to squirm out from underneath him. Vincent crouched and took a firm grip around the back of her neck with one of his strong hands, and the gun disappeared.

"Red light, Sarah," Vincent grated.

"You killed them, you killed them," she cried.

"They had guns pointed at us, remember?"

"They were just kids…" she sniffled.

"I shouldn't kill someone who is threatening me with a weapon because he's a kid? Is there a certain age above which I'd be allowed to kill people?" He was mocking her.

"No…"

"They were criminals, Sarah. Living a continuous criminal life, stealing, threatening… probably would've killed someone any day now. I did the world a favor."

"So that's the reason you killed them?" she hiccupped, trying desperately to grasp some twisted sense in what he was saying.

"No. That's the why. There's no reason. There are no good reasons to live or to die. We are granted the gift of life and look what we make of it. We spit in the face of our maker! They had it coming, Sarah. They all do."

Sarah was speechless. He actually believed he was doing the right thing! How could she fight him verbally? He was a psychopath.

And she was lost.

Numbly, she closed her eyes and let her body go limp in his hands. He could just go ahead and kill her. He was right! She had also spit in the face of her maker, making the choices she had, living an unworthy life. There was no way she could plead with him.

A single tear slipped past her eyelid and made its way down her cheek.

-

Vincent watched in fascination how he affected her. It had been a long time since he had spoken as much to anyone. He realized that his words had an impact on her, beyond just the death threat she was so obviously aware of. His curiosity began to overtake his recent decision just to get it over with. She seemed to have a past that darkened her soul, colored her every thought, every action, and how she interpreted everything he said to her.

_The fuck why? _

He was sure she had lived on Cheer Street in Hilariousville, just like his temporary foster parents had. The little white fences with the little white mail boxes… Christmases in green and white, and everybody always so fucking polite and kindhearted.

_Haunted eyes. _

She'd had those scared, tormented eyes.

And yet he remembered laughter.

She had seemed relaxed with him, and with Simon. At fifteen he had affectionately played rather simple and sweet games with her and her older brother, and it hadn't been just to be nice. She'd been just seven then, but way too old for her age. And he'd been way too mature for his age, but at the same time he'd lacked experience from innocent childhood games, the stuff a normal kid would've done when he was seven, or ten, or twelve…. He could see now, in a moment of clarity, how their friendship had made up for that; at least a small part of it. She had been a little angel, a little piece of heaven in the hell that had surrounded him.

At seventeen things had been different. He had, however, secretly enjoyed her crush on him. Found bliss in knowing he was special to someone, even if it had been just a little kid.

Her presence in his life had affected him then… _and it still does!_

He was suddenly aware of how she felt in his hands, soft and warm, and vulnerable. He let go so abruptly he dropped her to the ground, as if he had burnt his hands.

-

Sarah hit the ground with the back of her head. She only fell a couple of inches though; it didn't hurt. Surprised, she looked up and met Vincent's confused gaze. He was staring at her as if she just arrived from outer space. She almost wanted to have a mirror, to see what he was seeing. A heavy sensation spread from her stomach, and all throughout her body, as they kept studying each other. He looked so lost at that moment. She wanted to touch him, to hug him, to plead with him, to let him in, to shut him out.

All at once.

Taking control of her inner turmoil, she sat up, forcing Vincent to take a step back. As she stood, she took a step forward, facing him and laid a small hand on his arm.

"Come on. I'll take you home."

-


	6. Dead End

**Chapter 6 Dead End**

Sarah's gut feeling told her he wasn't going to kill her. He'd intended to, she was pretty sure of that, but something was off.

She looked up at his inscrutable face as she opened the heavy wooden door to her apartment, and wondered for the zillionth time what she had gotten herself into.

As she let Vincent inside, she realized this was the last stop. Whatever was to happen between them, it would take place here. If she was wrong, and he did intend to kill her, then she had just given him the best of opportunities.

Sarah tried to look at her apartment, or rather, small studio, through Vincent's eyes. It wasn't spacious, but it was hers. They stood in the living room that also contained the kitchen over to the right, separated from it only by a bench. Her bedroom and unmade bed could be seen through the open door on the other side of the room. Finally to the left of them there were two doors, one to a little bathroom and one to the only closet. The only window in the apartment was on the far side of the bedroom. The walls in this room were painted dimly yellow, and the walls in her bedroom had a warm red tone. A few photos in black and white of old Hollywood stars hung on the wall behind the sofa. She had decorated everything herself when she had moved in four years ago, painting, finding some old furniture at a secondhand market, and overall fixing the place up. It had marked a new era in her life. She wasn't going to be owned any more, wasn't going to be pushed around.

_My place! My life!_

Suddenly aware that her mind had drifted, Sarah looked up at Vincent and tried to imagine what he was thinking, but it was impossible. He seemed to evaluate the apartment, maybe counting places to hide, looking for escape routes... She shuddered and realized she didn't want to know.

"Can I get you anything?" she asked.

Vincent seemed to snap out of his scanning mode and looked at her. Suddenly a relaxed smile lightened his features, and he pulled his fingers through his hair. "What've you got?"

"Ehm, water… tea." She went over to the fridge. "Orange juice, if you're not afraid of food poisoning." She laughed and shook the half empty juice bottle, which looked like it was about to explode from the obviously too old content. Sarah threw it in the sink and opened a cupboard. "Whiskey, gin, vodka…" She grinned sheepishly. "Nothing to mix with, though…"

Vincent shook his head and walked over to her. He leaned casually against the bench, raised one eyebrow and snickered. "You do like strong alcohol…" He gave her a meaningful sideways glance. Sarah began to protest. "Whiskey will be fine," he interrupted, and his grin widened into a more genuine smile, making her heart skip a beat.

_I like him. I'm insane! I wish he was a nice person… I wish he was here on a date…_

Sarah shook her head inwardly. Where did that come from?

They settled in her green, L-shaped sofa, that had seen its better days a couple of decades earlier. Each with one glass of the amber colored drink. Vincent had removed his jacket and thrown it over the bar's counter. Sarah shuddered as she caught a glimpse of his holster by the back of his belt as he sat down.

An uneasy silence settled between them. Vincent swirled the contents of his glass, drank the scotch in one swallow, and reached for the bottle to refill.

Sarah watched in fascination as he gulped down his second glass and refilled.

"Vincent-"

He looked up from wherever he'd had his focus. His eyes were unreadable, but they had an intensity that never seemed to dull. She swallowed.

"Why couldn't you let me go?"

He nodded, like he'd been expecting the question to come up. Sarah watched him intensely while her heartbeat sped up and felt like it must have been audible in the small room.

Vincent frowned and stared forward, seeing nothing. He seemed to consider the question. "I – hesitate…"

_Iwasright!OhGodIwasright!_

"I never hesitate. Up until the alley, it was pretty clear to me. Then…" He finished his third glass.

Sarah's head was spinning. She needed more to drink! This was too much for her. She had a chance, she was right, she actually had a chance!

"What happened in the alley, Vincent?" Pushing on, she needed desperately to break this deadlock, to get some reassurance, to breathe. She had no idea whether it would be dangerous to push him, or if she could benefit from it; she just did what came naturally.

"Why do you have that scar on your face, Sarah?" Suddenly he looked back up at her.

Sarah flinched. "I don't wanna talk about it."

"Well, I do."

"Well, fuck you!" she spat. Her heart pounded alarmingly hard as the memories pushed their way to the surface, like worms of decay from a corpse, long since buried but never forgotten.

-

Mark had been her first real boyfriend. Sarah had been nineteen and very shy. Two years had passed since her brother had died, and Sarah had still been very vulnerable and had trust issues. Mark had been a real charmer, and a real psychopath – but she didn't learn that until later. He'd taken her out, showed her places, taught her to drink and smoke. They'd danced and laughed, and he'd stolen her heart away completely.

After some time, maybe a few weeks or a couple of months, the memory was rather blurred; he'd introduced her to some new friends of his. She'd thought they were a little creepy, but wanting to please Mark, she'd hung out with them. The guys had used to pinch her, and grope her a little here and there, 'just for fun'. Sarah hadn't found it that much fun and had tried to get them off of her the best she could. Nervously, she would look to Mark for reassurance, but he would just smile and tell her "It's all right, baby". That had been all he ever said, "It's all right, baby".

_GOD, how I hated those words! _

One late night, after hours of heavy drinking, they'd been back at Mark's apartment. One of the guys, she thought his name was Steve, had hauled up some white powder in a small plastic bag. Sarah had watched with fascination as he handled the powder as if it was pure gold, placing some in a spoon, melting it into fluid and sucked it into a syringe. She'd known what they were doing; Heroin, she'd heard about it. She'd never encountered it before though.

They'd all injected it; Mark's four friends had gone first. Then, before Mark had taken his shot, he'd helped her to her virgin dance with the white devil.

She didn't remember much of how it started; she'd sunk down onto the sofa in a haze. When she'd come to her senses, she was being raped. At first she hadn't gotten it, thinking it was Mark on top of her. Then, as she'd realized it was one of the other guys, she'd panicked and started to yell and beat at him, trying to get him off of her. The guy had laughed and Mark had suddenly appeared, holding her arms down as he'd caressed her face and 

told her "It's all right, baby". They'd all taken turns with her that night. Sarah had fallen in and out of consciousness as the effects of her first heroin shot had lasted for hours.

Afterwards, Mark had been so sorry and had said it was the drugs, it hadn't been him. He would never hurt her, she knew he loved her.

_Blah, blah_...

She knew now he'd been just full of shit. He'd never loved her; she'd simply been an easy girl to have some fun with. But back then… He'd thrown out the other guys and comforted her, promising her that he'd make it up to her. Sarah had wanted so desperately to believe him, to belong somewhere, to have her own family.

It hadn't ended there, though. Sarah and Mark had begun shooting heroin together. She'd loved the calm it brought her speeding mind, the blissful haze; it had been a way to forget about her past, and to stop thinking about her brother. Soon enough she'd become addicted. Mark, who'd already been an addict even when they met, had begun to get mean. He'd started saying she'd have to pay for it, that the stuff was expensive, and that he couldn't keep buying her rations unless she did something to help him pay for it.

It hadn't been that far-fetched anyway, she'd never owned her own body; she'd been reminded of that throughout her whole existence. So she had done it. Reluctantly at first, but after her first customer it had become easier and easier.

Sarah had lived, or existed, as a junkie and a prostitute – a whore – for seven years after that. Even way after Mark had been out of the picture. It had been a miserable, meaningless, throw-away-your-life existence.

_So close to take my life, so many times…_

The scar had been the forever 'sweet' memory of a violent customer. There had been so many of them, and she had long since stopped caring about who did what to her and why, just as long as she could get her next spike. She had been a very skinny thing who ate almost nothing, and had coughed constantly from a poorly treated asthma. This particular customer had a fit when he saw her bony body and her ugly arms, scarred from numerous needles.

So he'd beaten her. It had seemed to last forever. In the end he had produced a knife, saying she was the 'ugliest motherfucking whore' he'd ever seen and that she deserved to die. She remembered the knife, but she didn't really remember the cut. Obviously someone had finally heard her screams and called the cops.

That had saved her life. _But what life?!_

Sarah had spent a couple of weeks in hospital; healing from the cut, a few broken ribs, and a liver laceration. Those wounds were the easy ones to heal... During the stay, she'd had an awful withdrawal experience, going 'cold turkey' after the first night. They'd done what they could to relieve her of her agony, but they hadn't given her what she wanted. When the stay ended she was, for the first time in years, free from drugs, and could think clearly…

She'd been sentenced to two months in prison and had ended up in a low-security ward. There she'd attended the group therapy sessions led by a young and very enthusiastic psychologist. The break from the heroin had been her chance of a clean start. And she'd taken it; she'd needed it if she was ever going to have a life. Her twenty-eighth birthday had been only a few weeks away; that had been four years ago, but still she wore the scars. They were for life, some visible and some not…

Yeah, she surely had spat in the face of her maker. How could she ever tell this man?

-

"No fucking way I'm telling you, Vincent."

He didn't look angry. He simply looked like there was no option; like he knew he would win this battle no matter what. That made her furious. Who the fuck was he? Forcing himself into her life, and now wanting her to tell him the fucking story of it!

_Fuck him! This is MY place, MY life. NO ONE pushes me around any more! _

She stood to get off the sofa, to get some breathing space, and he was on her in an instant, slamming his glass down on the table so hard that the contents spilled all over his hand. At the same time his other hand flew out and gripped her forearm, forcing her to sit back down so it wouldn't hurt.

"You don't get to call the shots here, Sarah. I do!" he hissed.

Sarah didn't become afraid this time, just angrier. Her cheeks flushed as she tried to pry his fingers off of her arm. "Get the fuck off me!" she yelled.

She swung her free arm to try to hit him in the head, but Vincent was faster and wrestled her down on the couch. As he battled her flailing arm, he sank down on top of her. Sarah twisted and screamed as she fought him. Vincent had straddled her hips and lay heavily on her, using merely his weight to hold her still. Pressing his forearm against her throat, he forced her to calm down to gulp for air. Sarah, however, took one deep breath and slammed her head into his face, hit his nose and made it bleed a little. Vincent immediately caught her hair in a painful grip and bent her neck backwards.

Sarah's eyes flew wide open as she saw the madness, almost on the verge of insanity, in his eyes as he shook her. He spat as he yelled, his face bare inches away from hers:

"DO YOU WANT TO DIE?!"

"I DON'T KNOW!" she screamed back at him.

-


	7. Will There Be a Tomorrow?

**Chapter 7 Will There Be a Tomorrow?**

The silence that followed roared in their ears. Panting heavily, they stared at each other. Their chests heaved synchronously from the effort of the fight, and their bodies were so tightly pressed together that they could feel the other's heartbeat.

Vincent moved first.

Out of necessity.

He sat back, smoothened out his clothes and pulled his fingers through his hair, in an attempt to get himself back in order. He looked bothered though, flushed, and his usual calm was gone. Raising his hand, he wiped some blood off from his upper lip, and glanced in her direction with a slight twitch in his face.

Sarah didn't move. She watched his movements with a blank face; her head was spinning.

_What did I say? I didn't mean it! Of course I didn't mean it!_

Slowly, she sat back up, not bothering with her clothes the way Vincent had. She was tired, feeling a little sick all of a sudden. Looking down at her trembling hands, turned palm-up, she inspected the fine lines there. One of them was supposed to be the life line. _Wonder which one, wonder where it ends…_She pressed the heels of her hands hard against her eyes, inhaled deeply and then exhaled slowly.

"Why do you want to know?" she asked finally, removing her hands and looking up at Vincent. Her hands shook as she poured herself another drink. She raised the bottle questioningly at Vincent, who nodded. The neck of the bottle rattled against the glass, and Vincent placed a steady, warm hand over hers to help her out.

-

He sighed. _Why does she have to be so difficult?_

"Someone wants you dead. Somewhere along the line of your life, you made choices leading up to the point where we are today." _Led me to you. _"This is not a coincidence, Sarah. You have to tell me."

Sarah chewed on her lower lip, seemingly processing this information. "So, you're not just plain curious then?"

His lips twitched slightly._ So bold all of a sudden?_

"I'll tell you if you tell me something first." Sarah straightened herself and drank some. "Give and take."

Vincent considered this for a moment; then he nodded. "Fair enough. What do you want to know?"

"How did you become a hitman?"

He laughed. "A hitman? Well, there was this ad…"

Sarah laughed, she actually laughed. Vincent felt slightly pleased to see that; he found it amazing how her mood had been switching throughout the night; _fear – anger – lust – joy – fear – lust_… _That's how real people act…_

_What do you feel now, Sarah?_

She fell silent and nodded, 'go on'.

"After high school I joined the army, didn't have anywhere else to go. Accepted me there, didn't ask questions. Discipline. Good life." He paused as his thoughts strayed back twenty years. "They sent me off to countries with names I couldn't even spell. Had me kill people there, lots of people, in the name of causes I never knew existed, in wars that no one's ever heard of..." He looked her straight in the eye and gave a barely visible shrug. "And I didn't care. I was cold."

He laughed shortly, and poured some more of the scotch. "They discovered I had a talent. Got some special training… and the privilege to kill off more of US's enemies, both abroad and here, at home."

_Yeah… at home too…_

Vincent raised his glass and saluted before he drank a little. He knew he was beginning to look worn out. He felt like shit, if he was honest, with a whisper of a headache and a nagging feeling of some unknown loss… The whole evening he had kept his usual cool, stayed untouchable. Now he must appear… _human… weak _- everything he despised...But Sarah was pretty drunk; she shouldn't pay that much attention. Vincent felt far from sober too; he'd kept up the pace with her or, rather, exceeded it since they got here.

"Who are 'they'?" Sarah whispered, clearly taken aback by what he'd told.

"Really can't tell you. I'd have to kill you." His eyes narrowed menacingly as he looked at her, challenging her with his gaze.

Sarah burst out laughing. She laughed out loud and then it turned into a giggle. Falling back on the couch, she held her stomach and laughed until she cried. Vincent didn't say a word, and he didn't move a muscle, he carefully hid the little twitch in his cheek that wanted to join in. Finally she turned quiet, and all that was left were the tears on her cheeks.

-

"No, seriously, who?" Sarah wiped away some of the wetness on her cheeks with the back of her hand. _He's so damn funny!_

"You ever vote?"

"Yeah…"

"There's your answer." He said it simply, like it was the most trivial thing to tell. The implications were huge… _Jesus, where am I in all this?_

"Fuck! Are you telling me the GOVERNMENT sent you to kill me?" Her eyes were round and large, and just a little out of focus, as she stared at him.

Sarah flinched as he started laughing. At first she felt embarrassed because he laughed at her, but he was such a beautiful sight, and his chuckling was so contagious, that soon she joined in as well.

Vincent finally turned quiet and looked, almost affectionately, at her. "Been in the private sector eight years now. Government wants nothing from you, little Sarah. They'd love to wipe ME off the map, though."

"But then…?" She frowned and tried to understand, she was not thinking straight any more. This was all too much.

"Private contractors," he said.

"Oh." She looked pleadingly at him. "But…"

Vincent shook his head, barely visible.

She nodded, she knew the answer; he'd already told her on the way to the jazz club. "…you don't know who."

He smiled and stretched out a hand. Sarah leaned into the touch, as he slowly stroked her left cheek with the back of his hand. She had noticed before that he had callused palms, and now she felt that the rest of his hand was used to labor as well, with those rough knuckles. _Yeah… some labor!_ She shivered as she realized what he could do with those hands, and pulled back a little. Vincent immediately retreated and sat back.

He considered her for a moment. "My turn," he said and smiled sardonically.

Sarah took a deep breath, and braced herself for what was to come. She had promised to tell him the story of the scar…

"A man," she whispered.

"A man? Your man?" He focused completely on her, as though absorbed by what she was about to reveal.

"No…" She shook her head repeatedly. "Some guy I was with…"

"Why were you with him?"

_Damn! He can't let anything pass, can he!? _"He-e… we were supposed to…" Her heart beat faster now, and her mouth was turning dry. She really didn't want to tell him, knowing all too well what was going to happen. _He'll_ _be mad. He'll be really, really mad…he'll kill me for wasting my life, for not deserving it! _

"We were going to… have sex…" She stared at her hands resting in her lap.

"And he cut your face?" Vincent raised his eyebrows as if in disbelief. "Sounds like an odd thing to do. Why?"

"Didn't like the way I looked," Sarah whispered.

Vincent's eyes narrowed as her considered her. "Sarah!"

Her hands flew up to hide her face. "He was a customer…" She didn't dare to breathe. Keeping her eyes closed and her palms tightly pressed against her face, she awaited death… or at least some amount of pain.

Sarah jolted as she felt his fingers carefully removing first one hand and placing it in her lap, and then the other.

"Why did you think it'd bother me that much?" he asked gently, frowning as if he really didn't understand and needed her to clarify it.

Opening her eyes, she glanced at him. "I thought…. you'd… disapprove…" she mumbled, not daring to remind him of what he'd said before: _'We are granted the gift of life and look what we make of it. We spit in the face of our maker! They had it coming, Sarah. They all do.'_

_Jesus, I'm tired now._

Leaning her head back, she relaxed against the couch, feeling her body go limp as all the tension left her. It felt like the worst part was done now.

The worst part of the telling…

-

Surprisingly enough, Vincent had been a good listener as she'd told him what she'd been up to in the long, sad years between her twenties and thirties.

He hadn't said much, and her story had been interrupted by long breaks, especially when she'd told him the more painful parts; Mark, the gang rape, the cutting… She'd fled to the bathroom a couple of times to calm 

herself, splash some water onto her face and wipe her nose before continuing, and Vincent had stayed patient with her all the time.

Afterwards, Sarah had cried some and Vincent had refilled her glass. He'd showed no signs of being angry, and he hadn't raised his voice.

Not until she proudly explained how she'd lived her life the last four years…

-

"…so, you see, I have this steady job now, and a place of my own." She made a gesture with her hands, as if showing her apartment. "I'm even trying to save some money for college, I want to become someone one day, do something important…"

"But what do you do?"

Sarah frowned, she didn't understand the question. "What do you mean? I work. I don't do drugs any more, and I'm off the streets. I'd say that's quite an achievement!"

Vincent leaned forward, slightly agitated and with just a hint of slurring evident as he spoke. "Are you tellin' me you do nothing but work and… what!?"

"But… but…?" Sarah was totally confused now.

Vincent leaned back and said with arrogance evident in his voice: "Why did you dodge that bullet?

She rose suddenly, in anger. Her cheeks had little red spots on them as she spat at him. "I wanted to live!"

"What the hell have you got to live for?" he asked coldly.

Vincent drank the last of the scotch and set the thick glass down hard on the table before standing up, face to face with her.

"You wake up, go to work, go home, eat your pathetic little microwave dinner, watch TV and go to bed. Every day the fucking same." He nailed her with his gaze. "Give me one fucking reason why I shouldn't just do my job, finish this contract and get out of here, and on with my life!"

"I was happy!" she cried. He'd hurt her. He'd hit a nerve and he knew it.

"Like hell you were, Sarah!" he spat. "Like hell you were" he muttered, and stretched out for the bottle to pour some more scotch into his glass before sitting back onto the couch.

Sarah remained standing, too upset to even think about what she was saying. "Why don't you just kill yourself instead, if life is as meaningless as you rant about all the time? Why take it out on me?" She pulled the bottle out of his grip after he was finished and filled her own glass to the rim. "You're so full of it," she snarled and sat back down, swaying a little as she did.

Sarah screamed, as he grabbed her arm and held it tightly "I'm so full of what?" he asked, leaning forward, so close to her that she could feel his hot, scotch drenched breath on her lips, his eyes flashing dangerously dark.

Her heart pounded wildly, and she had a whooshing noise in her ears. She was afraid again. But it wasn't only fear this time; other feelings intermingled as well. There was something so appealing to this situation. Three or four years ago, she knew she wouldn't have tried to avoid the bullet. She would have welcomed it!

She had never had the courage to take her own life, to end her pain, and here he was, offering her the opportunity. Maybe it'd even be quick, painless? A part of her played with the thought of asking him to do it, to finish his contract. She was pulled towards him, more and more, and she knew it. He was like a dark sun that had entered her universe – her gravitating towards him – or perhaps he was more like a black hole…

Her biggest fear at the moment was that he would know it too.

Sarah didn't think. Whether it was the heavy drinking, or the long-lost feelings of her childhood, she didn't know; but something made her move. She leaned forward and let her lips brush against his. Then she jerked back, astounded by her own actions.

Vincent looked shocked.

The fact that she could surprise him like that made Sarah giggle out loud.

"You're drunk!" he concluded as he regained his composure.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't be," she replied.

"No. Go ahead. Drink yourself into a stupor, if it makes it easier for you." Vincent shrugged indifferently and leaned back onto the sofa. His eyes lingered a little longer on her lips than he had intended, though.

That last part sobered Sarah slightly. She really didn't want to die. And yes, she was drinking, trying to avoid the facts of the situation.

Maybe if she was unconscious she wouldn't have to suffer the humiliation of begging for her life.

-


	8. As Painful As truth

**Chapter 8 As Painful As Truth**

Vincent looked at his watch, and Sarah followed his gaze. _Jesus Christ! Six a.m.!_

"We need to sleep," he said.

_Meaning…? You'll let me live? _"Yes, I really need to!" she sighed. Her head spun as she rose. She was a lot drunker than she had realized. Stumbling, she hit her knee on the corner of the small table, which made her swear and hop on one leg. Then her shoulder had a close and painful encounter with the door frame, before Sarah more or less dove into her bedroom and wrapped herself in the cool sheets in her bed.

_Finally! _She stretched and made herself comfortable as she dozed off. He could sleep wherever he wanted, or preferably just leave, go somewhere else.

Her eyes, which were almost closed, flew open as Vincent too came into the room and went over to the window. He'd turned off the lights in the living room, and now he was gazing for a moment at the clear blue morning sky. Squinting, Sarah watched his silhouette. Suddenly, he pulled the strap that kept her curtain up, momentarily turning the room dusky. Vincent undid his tie and threw it over a chair as he surveyed the room. The same routine everywhere he went, she'd noticed. Sarah gasped as he bent towards her bed and shoved it a couple of feet, so that the length of it was along the wall.

"What're you doin' to my bed?" she slurred.

"Practicalities. Wouldn't want you to run away in the middle of the night…"

"Night's over," she replied sourly.

He smirked. "Indeed. Move."

"Why?"

"I need a lot more space than that," he said, nodding at the narrow rim of bed that was left on his side.

"But…"

"Yes, Sarah," he said, as if speaking to a small child. "I am going to sleep here. I need sleep too, and the couch just won't do. Can't make sure you don't leave if I sleep there." He glanced in her direction with a grin and a meaningful gaze. "Don't worry, I won't touch you." He sat down on the side of the bed as he removed his shoes and started to unbutton the shirt.

Sarah felt a cramp in her belly; a hint of fear mixed with humiliation. This man… This_, _this…_Vincent, _was actually going to sleep in the same bed as her.

_And he won't touch me…_

She didn't know whether she should laugh or cry. It was so sad. She had been so lonely for so long… _Jesus, of course he won't touch me, he knows what I've been._ She pulled up the blanket further.

_It's for the best anyway…_

Her breath hitched in her throat as he swiftly removed his shirt and she could, for the first time, see his beautiful, muscular torso. The one she had felt before, like a packet of dynamite hidden under the expensive suit. Between his right scapula and the spine, there was a rather ugly scar, looked almost like a bullet wound… She wasn't sure. He also had several less obvious long scars across his back. _Whipped? Has he been whipped?_

Vincent rose and stepped out of his pants which he laid, neatly folded, over a chair next to the bed. Finally he placed his gun under the bed, close to where his head would be. Not under the pillow, though, where it would have been possible for her to try to reach it, she noticed. These last actions pulled Sarah out of her trance and she shrank back in the bed, away from him.

Lifting the blanket to get under it, he looked at her. "You gonna sleep in all those clothes?"

"Mmm, I'm too tired anyway…" It was a little lie, but it could pass. She wasn't sure why she felt so shy all of a sudden. _Shit!_ With her background she should've been able to get up and jump naked in front of him, without feeling the least bothered.

_It just…_ _feels dangerous_…

"All right." He shrugged and lay down beside her. The old bed shifted and protested as his heavier frame forced it to sink down more on his side. Sarah struggled to stay in her place and not fall onto him.

They settled, after a few uncomfortable moments, into an arrangement where they didn't lie immediately touching each other.

A minute passed, then Sarah felt an urgent need to pee. She changed position and tried to forget about it, but her bladder kept reminding her. "Vincent."

"Yeah?" He sounded completely awake.

"I need to use the bathroom."

He nodded. "Go."

Sarah crawled out of bed, avoiding the closest route over Vincent's body, and stumbled through the dusky living room. The lights in the bathroom blinded her and she turned them back off. Sitting in the dark, she listened to her own breathing.

_Why the hell am I still alive? What happens tomorrow? When will he leave? What if he stays…?_

Her head felt heavy and finally she just blanked all thoughts. She had been the master of that… in her previous life… Well… always.

When she was done, she looked up and realized her nightgown was hanging on a hook just in front of her. After quickly switching from her work outfit, the small skirt and blouse, she sighed with relief from the feeling of the cool, soft fabric on her skin. Taking just a few more seconds alone, she ran the toothbrush around her mouth, and splashed some water on her face.

Hesitantly, Sarah tiptoed back to bed, and jumped when she saw that Vincent was looking at her, just two dark eyes in a pale face, and with that grey hair almost invisible on the white pillow.

"Felt good?"

Sarah nodded.

"Mmm, gotta go too." He rose and went for his suit jacket, still slumped over the kitchen bench in the living room, digging in the pocket for something.

Sarah figured it had to be something he needed for the bathroom, and was surprised when he came back to her.

"Sit back, or lie down."

She frowned, not understanding his request, but lay back down on her side of the bed without asking any questions. She gasped a little as he towered her, and took her wrist in his hand. Threading something through the radiator, he then wrapped a narrow plastic strip around her wrist and secured it to the radiator. She heard the small snapping sounds as the strip was tightened.

"Can't trust you not to run away… can I?" He smiled, rose, and left for the bathroom.

_No you can't, Vincent…Damnit! _She tugged at her wrist, but the bond didn't budge.

"Vincent, you moron!" she shouted when he returned, a few minutes later. Vincent just grinned at her and flipped open a switchblade in his right hand. Before Sarah even got to understand what he was doing, he'd already cut her loose. She quickly pulled her arm back from him and pouted.

"Sleep? Or stay angry?" he teased as he lay down again, pulling the blanket over him.

"Sleep… I guess." Sarah made herself as comfortable as she could on her side of the bed. Considering that a few inches from her lay the most attractive and charismatic man she'd ever been this close to.

…_he kills people for money! _

Somehow that didn't feel as worrying any more as it probably should… For some strange reason she could almost see his motives - not for killing people - but for how he'd ended up like this. Maybe because of their history together… Maybe because all the alcohol had dulled her senses and made her reckless…

_Maybe because I'm a lot more like him than he knows…_

She shifted, and suddenly her naked thigh brushed against his, and her heart jumped up her throat when she felt the coarse hair on his legs against her softer skin. Immediately moving her leg away, her cheeks blushed with embarrassment. Lying on her back, she tried to regain control over her heart when, in the corner of her eye, she saw that Vincent was looking at her. She stole a quick glance in his direction, and then looked back up at the ceiling.

-

Vincent had propped his head up on one of his hands. Now he just quietly studied her, making her nervous; he was aware of that. It was quite funny. He knew he had an impact on women in general; that he was thought of as good looking. Well, 'beauty is in the eye of the beholder', and he didn't give it much consideration. But he wouldn't be himself if he didn't take advantage of just about anything he could use.

He wasn't completely sure why he was still around – and why she was still alive. Her sudden reappearance in his life had been… interesting and, even if he wasn't completely willing to admit it to himself yet, he wanted more out of her. For at least a short while, he wanted to dwell in the sensation of some kind of belonging.

He still had time.

Biting his lower lip, his gaze traveled up and down her face, and down to the outline of her body under the blanket.

_I promised not to touch her… _

_Well, never been a man of my word._

He leaned in a bit closer, and stifled a smile as he heard the ragged breathing coming from the woman next to him.

_Little upset, are you, Sarah?_

It had been an amazing evening. He hadn't spoken so much in years. Hell, maybe since he was in his teens and hanging with the only friends he'd ever known; Simon and little Sarah… _Not so little any more… _He had opened up some to her questions, and she had revealed awful things from her earlier years. Good for her that they were over.

Fucking twisted though, how she, who had always sought adventure, and had seemed to really want to live, now had settled into some low-class-American-waste-of-life style. Her being a prostitute and a junkie, that was just the facts of life; happened to some people. Sometimes even to some of the good people. Especially those who wanted a little more out of life than the others; the sensitive ones. Most of the time a life like that was never made by choice.

But NOW, this was different. This life she had chosen on her own, and it reeked of loneliness, misery… not so much depravity any more as depression. That had finally made him angry. That shook him. He, who never cared about other people… Well, he COULD care, when he chose to.

No one ever saw that side of him, though…

Sarah wasn't the most beautiful woman he'd ever been around. She was way too skinny for his preferences, and she was … plain. Didn't look after herself; just pulled the hair back into a ponytail and wore little or no make up. He looked at her, fascinated by how she refused to look back. He smiled a little inwardly.

_Well, she IS soft and warm… and caring…_

-

"Sarah" he said, his raspy, soft voice slightly deeper than normal. "Are you cold?" She shook her head, just a little too quickly. "Hurt?" She shook her head again. "Sad?" There was a slight hesitation, before she denied that too.

Sarah jolted when a big, warm hand came up to stroke her face. Then she let herself sink back into the pillow, as his ministrations were so tender, and made her feel so heavy. Sleepy. Vincent kept caressing her face, slowly, sensually, and a whimper wanted to escape from her lips. She needed so desperately for someone to just hold her, to tell her everything was going to be all right... Turning over, she looked at him; he had a hint of a smile on his lips.

"Please…" It slipped from her mouth before she could stop it.

"Please what?" he asked in a soft voice.

She hesitated. "…please, hold me…"

He engulfed her in his strong arms and held her tight. "The night's been tough on you," he whispered.

She pressed her face against his neck and inhaled deeply before letting out a sigh, reveling in the warmth he radiated.

It didn't feel like she'd expected though. The embrace didn't make her calm. With the whole length of her body pressed against his she was, on the contrary, beginning to feel more excited… aroused…

_Oh no! _

She tried to free herself from his hold, but he didn't let her go.

-

"Stay, Sarah," he whispered.

Slowly threading his fingers through the fine hair at the back of her neck, he caressed the soft skin there and could feel the goosebumps he created. Her breathing was getting ragged and through the thin fabric of her gown, her hardening nipples teased the skin of his chest. Knowing that she was aroused by his presence, he lowered his head and leveled his lips with hers, placing one hand gently at her shoulder.

He waited, she'd come to him, he needed her to come to him.

-

Sarah moaned low and parted her lips slightly. _Oh_ _God!_ She wanted him to kiss her; she could feel the heat from his lips as they came even closer. Finally she couldn't stand the torture any more and raised her head to meet his lips.

They tasted each other, hesitant at first, almost shyly. Soft lips meeting, exploring, then the tip of one tongue met with the other.

Dancing.

Intertwining.

Soft sighs of contentment.

Sarah lost herself completely in his taste, his scent, and in the feel of his body pressed against hers. She became acutely aware of his hand, however, when it began to wander from her waist to where her night gown had slipped. His warm, strong hand slowly caressed its way up the side of her body, under the fabric, meeting with her bare skin, making it tingle. Moaning into his mouth, she squirmed and tried to push his hand away. He resisted at first, unwilling to leave that silky soft piece of her.

Finally, she broke the kiss and pushed herself forcefully away from him. "I can't," she whispered. She was scared again, but this time it was more herself she was afraid of than him. Her fear of losing control…

_I shouldn't drink! I should never, ever drink! _

_FUCK!_

Vincent didn't let her go; he gave her some breathing space, but kept his arms around her. His right hand was held loosely over her hip and his thumb kept stroking her, over and over again, which sent jolts of longing and expectation through her.

"What's wrong, Sarah?"

"I – I just can't, Vincent." A painful expression came over her features. "I'm too tired – and drunk – I just need to sleep. No offense."

-

"None taken." Her agony didn't pass by him unnoticed, though. His hands had proceeded to massaging her back, kneading the tensed muscles there. They told him everything; they were wound up like piano strings now, unlike a few moments ago when she had been like clay in his arms. Warm, willing and excited…

"I don't buy it, Sarah." He pressed himself harder against her, just a little, to mold her. He didn't want to intimidate her, not now, but he wanted her to feel his need, to feel what he wanted.

_I want her!_

A few moments ago, it had been just a little game; to see how far he could go. But during that long, soft – and trusting – kiss he had felt her whole body adjust to his, melting into him… And it felt too good. He couldn't stop here, not now. He'd never get to sleep.

"Why? I've been face to face with someone's gun – twice – no, more… tonight, and it's late, and I've been swallowing like a bottle of scotch or so… and I have a headache." She blushed, probably embarrassed from the all-too-common lie, smiled weakly and made an attempt to look exhausted. The quick pulse beating at the base of her throat and her erratic breathing gave her away, though.

He knew their closeness affected her just as much as it did him. _Is she still afraid?_

"Are you scared?" He pushed a strand of hair away from her face, trying to go slow and without any sudden moves that would worsen whatever it was she was feeling.

-

Sarah's head was spinning and she felt almost sick; it was so unfair. There was no cure, no going back. Why had she dodged that bullet back at the café? It could've been over by now and she wouldn't be in this situation. No pain, no more fear, and no loneliness… Still, in the actual face of death, her survival instincts had kicked in with an unexpected strength.

Vincent's hot, hard body was pressed against hers. She could feel that he wanted her, and her body had responded in kind.

'Are you scared' he'd asked… how ironic… _Yes, I'm scared… _She'd have to tell him, wanted to tell him. At least then he'd leave her alone…

"I have a disease. It's… we can't. I can't ever…" The words came slowly, with an effort, as if she was forcing them out of her mouth, mumbling into the nape of his neck.

"How? Are you sick?" He frowned. "Tell me."

Suddenly, she regretted her decision and her mind panicked; she hadn't told anyone so far. "It's so filthy… I don't want to."

"Yes, you do."

She processed that statement for a moment.

_It's true, I do!_

"It's called… I have AIDS. Or, no, HIV. It's not AIDS… not yet, it isn't. So you see why we can't…"

-

Vincent was stunned. He was far from a stranger to death. It was a calculated risk in his line of work. But to slowly rot away… to live year after year with the knowledge that you would eventually get deformed from numerous tumors, weak from multiple infections and, to top it off; demented before you die…

"Say something," she pleaded.

"Are you afraid?"

She was quiet for a moment and closed her eyes before she answered; a single tear fell on each of her cheeks. "Not so much now. I was when I first knew… Thought I'd die any day…"

"How long have you known? When did you get it?"

Sarah looked at him like he was an idiot. "Ehh, from… work… They found out when I was at the hospital, after the assault."

Vincent had realized, immediately after asking, what the answer would be. He tightened his arms around her and held her rigid body to his. She fought him a little in the beginning, not wanting his pity, but he didn't let her go.

Eventually she accepted his embrace.

"Don't be afraid," he whispered.

That was the last thing said before sleep finally claimed them both.

-


	9. Day Two, Friday, Six pm

**Chapter 9 Day Two, Friday, Six p.m.**

The second time she woke, she was alone. Somewhere in the building someone was flushing a toilet. The whining sounds from the water pipes, normally an annoying disturbance, was comforting, a proof that the world was still the same.

Outside.

Her world had changed.

Vincent…

-

He'd tied her up before he left a couple of hours ago. The strips were rather tight, and she was going to have bruises. If she allowed herself to interpret the look on his face, though, he had seemed sorry about it.

She'd slept the whole day. At ten he'd made her call in sick. She'd told them she had the flu, and that she'd probably be in bed for a few days._ How many days will it be?_ It hadn't been such an effort to sound ill; after the phone call she'd immediately rushed to the bathroom and thrown up. She had a hangover that would've killed an elephant. Even Vincent had looked rather disheveled.

At two he'd woken her again, he'd found some bread in her kitchen and had made them tea. She'd just taken a bite out of the bread, but had been thankful for the tea.

_Didn't tell me where he was going – or when he'll be back… What if he doesn't return? _That was a new and paralyzing thought. Maybe he'd just left her here to starve to death? _No… No he wouldn't! That's not his style – I think…_

Her panic had come and gone several times as she fell in and out of sleep. She'd processed the previous night several times. Every action, every word, and every look… touch… dance… The final talk… and how she'd fallen asleep in his arms.

_I felt safe! How truly fucked up is that?_

She had an excruciating headache, always had when she'd been drinking. Yesterday she'd gulped down alcohol as if she wouldn't live to see the break of dawn. Well… she had. Even before she went to sleep, and now she regretted every single drop.

The fact was that she wanted him to come back. His appearance in her life was so totally unexpected, and it made her feel alive. She'd even told him about her… disease, and he'd accepted it. No one had ever known before; not her mother, not the girls at work, and not the few friends she still had left. The truth had been such a burden to carry alone, and the reliefs of having its weight taken off her shoulders made her feel like she could rise.

-

Vincent had been making some phone calls.

He'd had some ideas on where to start. From there it had been relatively easy. She'd been a prostitute and a junkie. Her brother had been a small time dealer. Then there had been the beating… and a sentence – jail for a number of years… four perhaps?

Revenge?

Possibly.

Related to Simon?

Less likely.

Retaliation for being sent to prison… A man, thinking too highly of himself, put down by a whore? More probable… He couldn't exclude the other possibilities yet, though…

He'd have to pull some strings, but it'd be worth it.

She deserved it.

_Little Sarah… always so trusting…She's still the same – I want her to stay that way…_

_It felt good yesterday, laughing with someone… her touch…_

His contact in Nevada, Frank, had set up a safe line via satellite transmission and then he'd called Vincent back.

"V? It's Frank. What's up?" The man at the other end of the line sounded slightly surprised.

"We're gonna ask the Corellis that favor."

-

The Corelli cartel was the only real player on the east coast. They were involved with drugs, gambling, smuggling and prostitutes. They had officers on payroll, lawyers and from what the rumor said, even a judge… you name it - they owned it all. There was nothing going on that they weren't involved with, nothing that counted. They were good businessmen, ruthless and professional.

Vincent had done jobs for them several times.

Once though, they had messed up with the arrangements, and had forgotten to check one small detail. The rear exit from a building, the escape route Vincent had been supposed to take, hadn't existed any more. In order not to get caught, Vincent had to shoot his way out, making a mess, killing probably ten people before he had gotten away. Nearly got himself killed...

Ever since, he always checked every aspect of the hit himself; entrances, exits, guards, key cards…

The Corelli brothers, said to be brothers, but no one really knew if they were even related, had apologized and taken the full blame. Vincent had completed the job to their complete satisfaction and they'd said that if he ever needed a favor…

-

"Fuck V! What's going on? Where are you? Have you done the job yet?"

The man at the other end of the line sounded disturbed. Vincent was like a machine. You could count on him to do the job, no matter what. He never let anything interfere. The rumor had it that he'd even killed his own parents.

He was the perfect hitman: thorough, cold, precise, and lacking anything even remotely close to a heart.

Frank had expected to hear from Vincent this morning, to have his confirmation that he was on his way to Las Vegas as planned. Instead there had been nothing the whole day.

Not that he was responsible for Vincent, not at all. Vincent was his own. But Frank had worked for him the last six years. Vincent had picked him up the day he left the prison, after serving two years for assault; a little dispute that had cost him his honorable discharge from the military and left him with nothing. Vincent had offered him a job, to be his right hand man, his "office", and it had worked flawlessly.

Until now.

-

"Frank, don't ever question me!" Vincent's voice over the line was harsh. Frank got his instructions and was all business again. _Good for him._

He'd heard the hesitation and the hint of accusation in Frank's voice, and it had left him wondering what the hell he was doing. Allowing Sarah to live had seemed like the right thing to do late last night; after the surprise of finding someone he knew so long ago, after all the dancing, the drinking, and the confidences. Even this morning, when he was still in Sarah's apartment, it had appeared reasonable, doable.

But now, after sobering up with fresh air and lots of strong black coffee, the night with Sarah seemed more and more surreal. He'd spent a couple of hours at his hotel room, sleeping some and thinking some. Finally he'd gathered his things and checked out.

He wouldn't return.

Looking at the whole situation now, pulled out into broad daylight, he realized it might weaken him, make him a liability.

Bad for business…

-

Sarah heard the key rattle in the lock, and her heart jolted. When the door swung open though, the first spark of joy was replaced by a little nervous tickle in her belly.

He looked… _not the same._

She couldn't tell at first what it was. Vincent hadn't looked straight at her yet, even though he could very well see her from the door. Instead, he was watching her apartment again, turning his head and glancing in different directions as he slowly and silently closed the door behind him. As the locking mechanism clicked with a sharp sound, almost like a gun shot heard from a distance, she flinched and her heartbeat sped up.

Vincent took a quick look at her with an unreadable expression on his face, like acknowledging her presence. Then he went for the bathroom and was gone for a few minutes. She could hear him stir in there, then the flushing of the toilet and the water in the basin.

She had a growing feeling of unease that she couldn't shake off. He seemed different, less like this morning and more like... _earlier last night!_ Her mouth suddenly went dry as the horrible implication grew on her.

_He's changed his mind! _

When the door abruptly opened, it interrupted her train of thoughts and she stared paralyzed at him as he came out and shut the door behind him.

"Vinc..." she began to say, but her voice trailed off as he slowly walked towards her, his eyes shadowed and almost hypnotizing her with their darkness. A feeling of sadness crept upon her; she mourned her life – to be losing it this way.

_So, this is it... _

When he unbuttoned his suit jacket, one button after the other until all three of them were done, she turned her head away from him and took one last, long look at the still blue sky outside. A bird flew by in the distance. Then she closed her eyes.

_Not gonna fight it this time._

-

As he approached the bed, he prepared himself. It'd be fast. Three in the head, like Daniel Baker... Still he felt remorse, like then, only this time he felt it in advance. He knew he didn't want to do this, but he couldn't see any other real solution.

He watched Sarah turn her head away and close her eyes, without a word.

_Brave little Sarah... she already knows. _

Sliding closer until he was right by the bed, he quietly pulled the gun out of its holster.

Then the cell phone rang in his pocket.

-


	10. Loose Ends

**Disclaimer:** Ahh, you know… I don't own anything and make no money!

Thank you very much, **Emptyvoices.** (Fascinating name btw!) Yeah, the poor girl has enemies… OK, here's the next chapter. Read and enjoy, and tell me what you think.

-

-

**Chapter 10 Loose Ends**

Cursing silently to himself, Vincent holstered the gun and grabbed the phone. Flipping it open as he turned away from the bed, he growled, "Yeah!"

The man in the other end of the line was enthusiastic. "V! Got some info. Was easier than I thought!"

"Go ahead."

"Turned out you were right. Our contact at the Corelli's checked with their source at the phone company, and then with some cop-dude of theirs. The guy who put up the contract IS in fact the same guy that were charged with the assault on that mark you're supposed to do. And tell you what: he's supposedly running some security business over there, on and off the record, so to speak. Seems he's trying to get his share of the market. Protection and shit like that, you know. Corellis ain't too happy about that... they've kept an eye on this guy for the last six months, or so. Johnny told me to tell you, that if you had some unfinished business with him, they wouldn't be in your way. Said they wouldn't hold it against you..."

_Really?_

That last remark didn't pass Vincent unnoticed. He filed it away for now, though.

"Good job, Frank. Send me the info on him."

"Seem to me they want rid of him, don't you think?"

"Frank!"

"All right, I'll send it."

"I'll contact you later."

"But, V..."

Vincent hung up and curled his upper lip into an expression of slight disgust. Same old Frank: reliable, lacking most of what people would call a conscience, perfectionist when it came to gathering information, hacking computers, security systems, and other useful skills.

The man was, however, annoyingly chatty from time to time. They were opposites really, but both were highly professional and overall they didn't see that much of each other, so it was bearable.

_Interesting…_

-

-

Sarah's heart had almost stopped when the buzzing sound of the phone went off, just a few inches from her ear. It took her several seconds to realize she was still alive. Yet she found herself unable to open her eyes again. She'd said her farewells to the world a few moments ago, and now she existed in limbo, listening to Vincent's short growls on the phone and the chatter from the person at the other end of the line. When he was done there was silence for several moments, and then her bed sank as he sat down at the edge of it.

When she felt his hand on her shoulder, she couldn't hold back any more and burst into tears. Her whole body shook and she curled into a fetal position as she almost cramped in pain, fear, and relief. Vincent hung heavy on her for a moment, and then her hands were suddenly free from their bonds. Taking her wrists in his hands, he rubbed them, trying to get some circulation back. Sarah made no effort to pull out of his grip.

"Sarah," he whispered.

She didn't move, and her eyes were still closed. The tip of her nose was so cold, as if something had sucked the warmth out of her body.

"Sarah," he said again.

Still unable to respond, she lay frozen.

"That won't happen again," he stated in a low voice that sounded a bit shaken. He cleared his throat. "Ever." Then he got up and left her alone.

Sarah remained on the bed, in the same position, for a few more minutes. Then she staggered up and rushed past a startled Vincent in the living room. He flung himself after her, but stopped flat when he realized she was heading for the bathroom. Sarah slammed the door shut, and bent over the toilet, throwing up in cascades all the contents of her stomach. After she was done, she was all sweaty and messy. The bathroom reeked of vomit, and her hair hung around her face, strands of it plastered against her forehead. Trembling, she rested her cheek against the cool china of the basin.

_This is the worst fucking day of my life! _Just finishing that thought, she knew it was wrong - she'd had much worse…

She didn't feel strong enough yet to go out and face him. _'That won't happen again… ever…'_ What wouldn't happen? The little hope she'd had of getting out alive had been lost those few moments ago, and the swirling vortex of hopelessness within her grew wider and wider.

_He really meant to kill me! If it hadn't been for that phone call, I'd be dead by now… _

In slow-motion, Sarah sank down on the thick, red rug and hugged her knees with her arms, slowly rocking back and forth, comforting herself when no one else would.

-

-

Vincent watched her flee past him and then listened to the sounds of her throwing up in the bathroom. He sank down again on the couch and brought his hands up to his face, rubbing the palms against his eyes and then his cheeks. Frustrated with his own indecisiveness, he reflexively smoothened out some imagined wrinkles on his pants and corrected his tie. As if a flawless exterior somehow made up for a flawed interior.

_Didn't want to kill her. _

_Already knew that…Would've though, easy way out. _

_And now it's OK not to… _

He stood abruptly, and paced the living room in utter annoyance, the depths of his dark eyes mirroring the agony he felt.

_Spineless! Make your own fucking decisions, Vincent._

_Improvise…_

Snorting, Vincent finally made up his mind and confirmed what he'd already known. Sarah would live.

The client had to go.

-

-

After quite a while, probably about an hour, Sarah cautiously opened the bathroom door and peeked out. She hadn't heard a sound from outside since she'd slammed the door shut behind her. Hoping intensely he'd be gone, she almost had a heart attack when she found him sitting coolly in her couch.

"Can't you just leave?" she said in a broken voice. "Please?"

"You want me to?" Vincent replied.

She couldn't believe he even asked. "Yes!"

"Can't do that, Sarah, not yet."

Something burst inside of Sarah at that final comment. There wouldn't be any end. If he couldn't leave, didn't it mean he was just toying with her and that he would eventually kill her?

Out of the blue, Sarah suddenly threw herself at the front door. It opened! Already halfway down the staircase, he caught her by the hair. She howled with pain as he pulled her in, and he quickly changed his grip. Covering her mouth instead, he reached past her and slammed the door shut, locking it this time.

Squirming in his grip and attempting to bite him, Sarah fought to get free.

"Shhh, shhh." Vincent pressed her body against his and tried to calm her, as they sank to the floor.

"Mummmnnguumng!" Her long tirade under his hand only turned into muffled sounds, impossible to understand.

"If I take my hand away, Sarah, you have to promise not to scream." He spoke calmly, soothingly.

She hesitated, and then nodded.

When his hand was gone Sarah inhaled deeply, as if taking her first breath ever, then she sobbed, "Just get it over with, Vincent! I can't stand it any more!"

_I want OUT!_

At that moment, she really wanted to die. Her mind screamed at him to do it, to finish it, to release her.

"Sarah." She didn't seem to hear, and was completely avoiding his gaze. "Sarah!" he said with more force, turning her head towards him with a hand gently gripping her chin. "I'm not going to kill you, Sarah."

Sarah flinched. He hadn't said it out loud before. He hadn't given her any promises until now, just that ray of hope late last night. The thought of that previous trust she'd carried made her angry. _He's just playing me_! _It's just a trick! He just fucking tried to kill me a few minutes ago!_

"You're so full of shit, Vincent!" she snarled.

-

-

"I'm full of shit?" He couldn't believe she was being this hostile. He'd just given her the most generous gift he'd ever offered to anyone in his entire life. "Sarah, you're a monument of it!"

Her eyes narrowed. "I? YOU have no heart, no soul...You're just a… - a breathing mass of flesh!" she yelled. "They won't even welcome you in hell; they'll have to build a special one, just for you!" Working herself up, red spots appeared on her cheeks and her eyes flashed with anger. She struggled to get free, and he let her go, following her up until they were standing, face to face. "Get out of my LIFE!" She shoved at his unyielding chest as she screamed the last word.

"Life…" he snorted. He didn't like being treated this way. _I'm trying to be nice for fuck's sake!_

"What life? 'Someday. Someday my dream will come true´," he taunted. "Well someday you'll wake up and realize it never came. Never happened. That day is here. Wake the fuck up, Sarah!" He had grabbed her shoulders with both hands, and shook her as he sneered at her.

Vincent knew he was hurting her, pushing her where it would hurt the most, but something about her seemed to bring out both the best and the worst in him. She was like a band-aid, ripped off from a still not healed cut; tearing the flesh and making it bleed again.

Fresh blood can be a good thing; it means the wound is cleaner.

The downside is that it's painful.

Sarah almost jumped in anger as she screamed at him, "What do you care? What's it to you? You could just leave and go on with whatever makes your own life so fucking special. But you know what? I think you can't. I think your life is just as empty as mine. Killing me would mean killing yourself and that little remnant of a soul in you!" With uncontrolled, angry movements, she wiped away the tears that had formed in her eyes.

Vincent opened his mouth to retaliate, but closed it again.

_She's right… I do remember - another man…_

…_a boy… _

He staggered backwards a couple of steps, until his back hit the kitchen bench. Confused, he looked behind him and then back at her.

_It fucking hurts!_


	11. Stranger Within

**Lee: **I'm glad to have you with me and that you are amused... ;D Where it goes from here? Well... um... No, you'll have to be patient with me. What **I **wanna know is where "Not The Type" is going!

**Emptyvoices: **It's great that you are excited, and thank you for the compliment, that the characters feels real. I hope you'll enjoy the next chapter now.

/Nic.

**Chapter 11 Stranger Within**

Staring at Vincent who looked like he'd lost something valuable - _like his brain! -_ she suddenly got profoundly tired. Tired of him, and this whole situation. She had a headache and an awful taste in her mouth, she smelled of old sweat and booze, and really, really needed to eat. Walking past him, she opened a cupboard, reached for a big glass, filled it to the rim with fresh, cold water and drank it greedily.

_Somewhere, where are they? _She pulled out one drawer after another.

Finally, finding some painkillers, she poured a couple into her palm and swallowed them with the last of the water. She hesitated, but then held out the small box of pills towards him, he did look like he could need some too. _I don't have to be an asshole just because he's one._

Vincent looked up at her with a new tiredness in his eyes that she hadn't seen before, and then down at her hand. Sighing, he nodded, and accepted the offer. Reaching past her, he took the glass she'd been using and poured some water for himself, slipping two pills in his mouth before draining it.

_Well, fuck me, he's human!_

The interactions seemed to revive him a little. Obviously back to normal, he straightened himself and gazed at her with a slight grin on his lips, sniffed demonstratively in the air and squinted. "You know, you could use a bath…"

"Didn't think I'd need one," she answered quickly, cockily, beyond caring any more about being cautious. She still didn't trust him not to suddenly change his mind again and decide that he should kill her. _Who needs a shower if they are going to die!_

He gave a short laugh. "Well, guess what? Change of plans. Now you do."

"Don't like smelly corpses?" she replied like a smart-ass.

In a way, she was trying to be funny, but at the same time there was nothing even remotely resembling a smile on her lips. On the contrary: if she felt anything it was bitterness at how her life had turned out and at how it would end. _I'll probably smell BETTER than I do now once I start to decompose_.

He shrugged nonchalantly. "They all smell, sooner or later… I do mind smelly women, though."

"Why should that bother me?"

_Jerk!_

"It'd ruin the dinner…"

That rendered her speechless for a moment.

_Dinner?_

The thought of food made her stomach give out a high gurgling sound. She tried to ignore it, wanting to push the bastard just a little further. "I don't see any candles."

"Because we're going out…" He looked at her as if he'd just given her a big surprise. She didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he had, so she just clammed up.

"Guess I do need a bath then," she muttered. Brushing past him with her head held high, she went back to the bedroom and collected a robe and a clean towel.

_We're going OUT? _

She didn't get to see the amused look on Vincent's face.

-

-

Vincent had treated himself to a drink and was sitting on her bed, watching some talk show on the TV. Sarah's words had driven a nail through his mind. He didn't feel entirely well. He didn't want to remember.

_Beaten. _

Letterman was interviewing a young starlet. Laughter.

_Nightmares._

Music, a band he hadn't heard of before.

_Blood._

A redneck was singing with a goat, and being ridiculed on national TV.

_Abandoned._

The humid air from the bathroom, enriched with scents of fresh soap and shampoo, filled the room as she walked through it, breaking the spell. She had covered herself in a washed-out red bathrobe, and her wet hair had been brushed back and lay plastered against her scalp. She looked fresh and innocent, and for the first time since they met, he found her attractive.

_I like her scent…_

Or perhaps it was that she looked sweeter, more vulnerable… more like the Sarah he'd known a long time ago? At this very moment, with that clean, smooth face, it was impossible to believe she'd been through all that shit in her life.

_She could've been so much more…_

Sarah didn't speak to him, or even look in his direction. It was obvious that she was still wary in his company, and probably rather pissed… After their last argument, a quiet peace, or more like a non-war, had settled between them. It was nice for a change; he hoped it would last.

Sarah rummaged around in her wardrobe, holding up one dress after the other, clearly unable to make up her mind. Vincent decided it was about time he did what he did the best: took control.

Quietly stepping up behind the unsuspecting Sarah, he said in a low voice,

"Go for the black one."

-

-

Sarah jerked around, she hadn't heard him coming. "FUCK! You scared me!"

"Isn't that getting old?"

"Well, stop sneaking up on me then!"

"OK," he said lightly. "The black one."

Sarah pressed her lips together, took the dress from its hanger and went back to the bathroom. The shower had made her feel new, and had washed away some of their arguing and the remnants of fear that had still lingered in her pores. She still didn't trust him completely - he had yet to give her some kind of explanation - but she was looking forward to leave the apartment for a while, and was overall in an increasingly good mood.

After putting on fresh underwear and a pair of stockings, she pulled the dress over her head. It was an amazing dress and she'd never used it, she'd worn it only once before, in the store in front of the saleswoman. Annoyingly enough, she couldn't reach the zipper in her back, and after trying it out in different angles she had to give up.

"Vincent!"

He showed up in the bathroom doorway a moment later, leaned casually against the door frame and looked her up and down.

"Zipper," she muttered, and turned her back to him.

Instead of just pulling it up there, he stepped into the small room and placed himself behind her, the mirror reflecting both of them. Holding the edges of the zipper at her lower neck with one warm, steady hand, he went for the zipper with the other and slowly pulled it up. Then he looked back up at the slightly flushed reflection of her face, and they stared at each other in silence for a moment.

Still watching her in the mirror, he pulled the hair away from her face and gathered it at the back of her neck.

"Look at yourself," he said softly.

She tried to bend her head away. "Cut it out, I don't want to."

"Please."

_Please!_

Surprised, she looked up at his refection in the mirror. That was the first time EVER she'd heard him ask her politely, and not the usual ordering her around.

He straightened her head in front of the mirror and placed a finger under her chin, lifting it slightly. "You should be proud of yourself, Sarah. Do something about your hair; if you pull it back like this; look what it does to your face."

_Are you for real?_ She tried to squirm out of his grip, but he still held her hair in his fist at the back of her head.

"And use some color in your face."

"I do!" she hissed. Sarah was increasingly annoyed to be examined like this. It was none of his business.

He went on, unmoved by the slight irritation in her voice. "…and straighten your shoulders. Stop hiding."

"I'm not hi… Stop doing this, Vincent! Why are you making fun of me?

"I'm not. I just think you deserve better."

_Better than what?_

"You don't know me! You haven't seen me before yesterday, when you came and messed up my life - and my appearance!"

He smiled. "Yes, I have, I do research on all my jobs. I know your schedule… where you live. I knew you were alone that night..."

Sarah's face dropped. "Oh." _How come you didn't know who I was then?_ Regaining her composure, she snarled, "What do you know about women anyway!"

Smiling more broadly, he mocked, "A great deal, I'd say."

"'Bout hair and make-up, I meant," she answered quickly, turning slightly pink with embarrassment. Suddenly she was very aware of his body close to hers in the small bathroom.

"I know what looks good on a woman," he replied calmly, with a hint of tease in his voice.

"Fine," she muttered in defeat. Of course he was right, there was no denying that. It was just that she hadn't felt like there was any reason to try to look good recently. For whom would she do that? There hadn't been anyone's attention she had wanted to catch lately. On the contrary: she had been happy to just melt into the walls, to be left alone.

'_You are what you feel. Other people treat you by what you express to them. Embrace the world and it will hug you back.' _

One cliché after the other flipped through her brain, as she was once again left alone in the bathroom.

Still, they held some truth.

She leaned her forehead against the mirror and closed her eyes.

_I didn't ask for this. I just wanted to be left alone._

Vincent's words, however, had set a little ball rolling, planted a seed. He had seen her. He had taken the time to look right at her, to look behind her mask, and not just see the scar, or her background.

_I have never been important to anyone. Maybe to Simon once, but he's dead. I've never been important even to me. I've known it in a way; I've just never straightened up and really looked at it. _

_I feel… like somebody…like I am somebody…_

_He sees me._

_He makes ME see me…_

_Fuck._


	12. Inflicting Pain

**Disclaimer:** Do I have to keep doing this at every chapter? Yeah, yeah, I don't own Vincent!

**Feedback:** It makes me SO happy if you let me know what you think about this story.

**_SirGecko_**, thank you very much for your review. I'm looking forward to see what you think once it's over... In the mean time: enjoy.

**-**

**Chapter 12 Inflicting Pain…**

About half an hour later, Sarah had dried her hair and put on some make up.

It really was a good looking dress, and she felt elegant and quite classy as she left the bathroom. Full of expectation, she looked forward to see Vincent's reaction.

He was lying on his back on her bed, resting his head against the pillow and was glancing at the TV. His suit jacket laid over the arm rest of her sofa and he looked relaxed in his shirt and dark grey suit pants. She only saw his profile, as he seemed absorbed by the TV.

When she entered the bedroom, he looked up at her. "Did you know that the global warming will eventually kill every living thing on this earth? Due to unstable weather with heat, blizzards, tornados and floods. All the inhabitable land will be under water."

"What?" _What's he talking about?_

"That's what we humans do to ourselves."

"Eh… yeah." Sarah only managed to look confused. She wasn't really updated on the global warming issues, or any other political stuff for that matter. She wouldn't have thought he was, either.

Rising from the bed, he went over to the doorway, where she'd stopped. Without a word, he took a T-shirt that lay over a chair next to him, and started to gently wipe her eyelids, removing most of the green eyeshadow she had so carefully put on.

Sarah started to chew on her lower lip in order not to start crying. Her eyes went blank and she swallowed hard, her nostrils flared with the effort of trying to stay calm.

She failed.

She backed away from him. "Get the FUCK out of my face, Vincent! What's with you!"

"As in?" he replied, seemingly untouched by her outburst.

"As in first you tell me to wear make up and now you wipe it away… And I fucking HATE myself for even putting it on for you in the first place! Fu -" Sarah stopped right there. Looking at her feet, she bit back a whole lot of mean things she wanted to say to him at that moment

He frowned. "Don't do it for me. Do it for you." He removed some residues beside her left eye with his thumb. "When I told you to wear some make up, I didn't mean you should look like a clown. We're going to a nice restaurant, and you need to look appropriate."

Sarah's shoulders hung heavy from the burden of the humiliation. "I'm not going anywhere with you," she muttered. Turning around to leave, she was interrupted by a firm hand on her shoulder.

Vincent leaned forward and said softly in her ear, "Yes, you are."

Spinning around, she slapped his hand away. "Make me!"

Raising one eyebrow, he met her challenging stare. "Is this really wise, Sarah?"

"You said you wouldn't hurt me!"

"Wrong. I said I'm not gonna kill you. Hurt is not really my business, too many random factors involved… But I know a few ways if you force me…"

Starting to regret that she'd pushed him this far, she still found it impossible to back out. Stubbornly, she said, "Yeah? Like what?"

"Like if you don't come with me now; I'll head for a nice restaurant all by myself, boring as it may be, and on my way back here, I'll pass by Peter Millard's place and execute him." He said it as if it was the easiest thing in the world, like he was going to buy some milk, and not talking about killing people.

The mentioning of her employer's name sent chills through Sarah's spine. …_and his kids!_

Backing away from Vincent, she numbly nodded, immediately resting her case. Her insides clenched and tore at her conscience in an impossible calculation; _can't go with him - can't let him go without me_… _He really is just a murderer! _

_He's not the man I thought he was… would be… _

_Whatever!_

_I've been so wrong!_

_-_

_-_

They took a taxi to a restaurant in the southern suburbs, the Italian quarter.

Sarah sat frozen next to Vincent in the back seat, trying to stay as far away from him as possible. Street lights played across her face, the sun had just set and it was a beautiful, slightly chilly evening. People were walking on the streets, dressed up for Friday night, laughing, standing in line outside the most fashionable restaurants downtown.

The city was full of life and Sarah didn't see it. All the way, she stared out the window with empty eyes, freezing cold, tormented by thoughts about bullets ripping through flesh, screams of agony, bodies going limp as life was leaving them…

It was as if she was seeing life in a parallel world.

Vincent's world.

-

-

The restaurant was small, with only enough room for about ten tables. She wondered how Vincent knew about it, even more so when he saluted the man, apparently the owner, who came to meet them as if they knew each other. They were seated in a secluded corner in the back of the room.

Vincent sat with his back against the wall.

Sarah put down her numb limbs at the chair opposite him. Staring into the wall.

-

-

Vincent noticed that Sarah wasn't really there. He was in a fairly good mood, though, and didn't pay it that much attention to begin with.

He'd decided to do something decent for the first time in a very long time in his life. To improvise… adapt… It felt – different. It felt good in a new way. Not the satisfaction of a job well done. Nor was it the satisfaction of having had his needs fulfilled, whether it came to sex, food or wine, music, or a day on the boat or at his hacienda.

No, this was obviously how it felt to do good deeds; to sacrifice something for another human.

Selflessness.

_Max would have laughed... _

_Well, Max isn't around any more, is he?_

Pushing the thought of the ill-fated cabdriver from that LA mission two years ago deep down where it belonged, he concentrated on the present. Sarah looked like she had swallowed a lemon, and was staring emptily at the menu that lay on the table in front of her.

"Hey." He reached out his hand to touch hers.

Sarah shrank away and looked up at him with a fearful expression on her face.

_What the fuck?_

"What's wrong? Can't find anything you like?"

"I'm not hungry."

"Of course you're hungry. Try any of their pastas, may look simple but they are the best you'll ever have eaten."

She shrugged and looked helpless. "Pick any then. I don't know what to choose."

Vincent's eyes narrowed briefly before he looked back down at his own menu and chose two main courses, pasta Carbonara for Sarah, and pasta with beef, onion and mushroom in cream for himself. Searching carefully through the wine list, he selected an exquisite Rioja to go with the food.

Salvatore, the owner of the restaurant and a close friend of Johnny Corelli, came by, took their orders and gave them a Dry Martini each, at his own expense.

Sighing contentedly, Vincent leaned back and sipped at the - perfectly dry - Dry Martini. He studied Sarah again; she hadn't said a word since… since back at her place.

_What's wrong? _

Sarah looked elegant in the black dress that hugged her body, giving her curves where she didn't have any. Having done something with her hair, and obviously taking him up on his advice; her neck appeared longer, which became her. The make up was subtle now, after he'd removed some excess color, but it still made her eyes glow.

Overall, she looked good.

_Is that it?_

Was she still pissed because he'd interfered with her make up choice?

_Women!_

"Do we have a problem?"

She flinched and looked at him, frowned and licked her lips. "N-," she cleared her throat, "no."

What's the quiet thing about then?"

"Nothing," she whispered, staring down at the table.

"Do I look stupid to you?" His eyes narrowed in annoyance over her stubbornness.

Sarah looked back up at him, a tear threatened to spill over her lashes. "You said you'd kill him!" Her voice, still kept low, was full of accusation.

_Who!_

"Who?"

"You're fucking unbelievable!" she snarled a little louder.

"Keep your voice down," he said in a low voice, giving her a warning glance.

"Peter. You said you'd kill him if I didn't come with you…" A tear trickled down her cheek. "Don't you even remember?"

Vincent looked stunned.

_Did I?_

Their waiter chose that moment to appear with their food. Proudly, he presented their dishes and placed them before Sarah and Vincent respectively. Pouring some red wine into their glasses, he then wished them 'buono appetito' and retired discreetly.

Vincent actually realized he'd fucked up. He had wanted her to come to this restaurant with him, and his habit of taking what he wants at any cost surely had taken its toll on this situation. Seeing what he'd said through her eyes, as she put it now, made the whole thing look… unfavorable.

_Smart move, Vincent. _

_Brilliant! _

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath

_Suck it up and apologize, Vincent, only chance of mending this._

"I'm sorry, Sarah," he said in a low voice.

-

-

Sarah was in such acute inner pain that she could barely breathe. Nothing mattered to her any more. She would prefer it if he killed her, instead of threatening other people – people that she cared about – and keeping her in suspense like he'd done these last twenty-two hours.

Their dinner had arrived, but Sarah was unable to eat. Glancing up at Vincent, she saw that he wasn't eating either. She frowned; he looked different all of a sudden.

_What is it now?_

He'd had a disgustingly satisfied look on his face the last hour; looking untouchable and pleased with himself.

Now he appeared… almost sad…

_It can't be…_

"Sarah, I didn't mean... fuck, I..." Normally, a rather well-spoken man, he now stumbled on his words, which made Sarah peek curiously at him and squint doubtfully, slowly shaking her head.

"If you didn't mean it, why would you say it? Are you so used to threatening people that you don't care how it sounds?"

"I said I'm sorry," he repeated. His eyes had darkened a shade, and he held her eyes captured with his gaze, almost as if willing her to forgive him. They sucked Sarah in and pulled her reluctantly towards him.

_Why does he have to be so…him? _

Wanting desperately to believe his apologies, she gradually became aware of how much she depended upon him. He had become her whole world since yesterday, her caretaker. He fed her and dressed her; he had talked to her… and caressed her.

She hadn't felt so much in the center for anybody's attention since… well, never.

"Tell me you're not gonna kill Peter... Please."

He laughed shortly. "Can't promise you such a thing. It all depends..."

"Depends on what? And why are you dragging me around anyway? You promised me not to kill me… can't you just let me go now? Please, Vincent."

"Look, I -" He licked his lips and considered her for a moment, then he opened his mouth to speak but closed it again. Finally, he drew a breath, glanced around the room in his unique way and turned back to her.

"I intend to free you of the contract. I can't let you go just yet... there would be others..."

_What!_

She was stunned. That was the last thing she would have expected from him. Sarah became silent for a moment and let the new information settle in her mind.

"Why are you doing this, Vincent?"

"Doing what?"

"Saving me…or… not killing me."

He didn't answer at first, as if not really knowing himself. Then he nodded, apparently coming to a conclusion.

"You gave me something, Sarah..."

"What?"

"Your trust."

She snorted. "Well, yeah, it was worth shit."

"No, it wasn't."

He gazed at her for a few more moments, then he seemed to lighten up a little and hit the table with the palms of his hands, making her jump. "Come on. Eat your dinner. They have great food here."

"How do you know?"

"Long story." He started eating, and it was obvious she wasn't going to get more out of him.

_Jesus!_

"Just don't kill Pete, Vincent," she whispered.

"Pete who?" Vincent replied with a glint in his eyes.

Sarah closed her eyes and nodded.

_He never even meant to…_

She wasn't sure whether she should feel relieved for having her employer out of danger, or worried about herself still being in the company of this man.

_Just don't kill anyone, Vincent._

_Just don't kill anyone._

_-_


	13. And Easing It

**_Thanks to all who is reading my little piece. Enjoy the next chapter of Vincent and Sarah's painful relation..._**

And, oh, yeah, the disclaimer: I don't own Vincent.

**-**

**Chapter 13 …And Easing It**

Vincent had been right, the food was great. The wine soon made her a little light-headed, and the company was - different, enthralling. He was such an enigma; dangerous, sometimes mean and cruel, and yet such a charmer, almost sweet - when he wanted.

Sarah reluctantly began to feel the little butterflies inhabit her belly again. She wanted to keep her guard up, but as he smoothly maneuvered them from one interesting topic to another, she began to melt.

They talked about shared things from their past: about Simon and why he'd ended up the way he did, teachers they'd both had at school, what had happened to the other kids in Vincent's class after he'd left, and so on. It was bliss to be able to finally talk to someone about Simon; it had plagued Sarah for years, and she'd never talked about it. Just buried it.

Deep.

Vincent entertained her with exciting stories from his years in the service. Well, at least the things he could tell without having to kill her, as he so nicely put it.

He asked about Sarah's parents once, and she replied that her mother still lived back at the house. Upon a comment on the fact that she never mentioned her father, she instantly turned serious. Finally, staring down at the table, she mumbled that he'd died of a heart attack eight years ago, and left it at that.

It was clearly a sensitive topic.

As if by unspoken agreement, Vincent's parents were never mentioned.

-

-

On the way back to her apartment, the taxi stopped a couple of blocks before her address.

"Road block up ahead." The driver nodded forward and looked at them in the rear mirror. "Car accident or something. I can't get through. Can try to find an alternative way, though, but your stop seem to be in the middle of it all. Wanna walk or want me to try?"

Looking briefly at each other, and without even speaking, they immediately chose to walk. Vincent paid the fare, and they set off. The sky was heavy, and after a few steps it started pouring down, soaking them. Sarah shivered from the cold rain, and Vincent played the good gentleman and gave her his jacket. She couldn't help but noticing that he didn't seem to have brought his gun.

"Thanks."

Vincent just smiled, obviously still in a good mood.

After walking quickly along the sidewalk side by side for a block, they turned the next corner and stopped, amazed by the mess in front of them. A truck had fallen on its side, obviously crushing a couple of cars as it fell. There were ambulances, police cars and fire trucks. Men in uniforms hurried around. They were lit by bright white lights and the blue and red, casting their irregular shadows on the surroundings houses as well as the watching vultures at the side of the scene; making it look all the more unreal in the dusky early night.

Sarah stole a quick glance at Vincent as they snuck by. She wondered if he would react in any way to the cops so close by, if he would try to stop her from running to them and begging them to help her.

At that exact moment, she realized that she didn't feel any need to ask for help. She knew they weren't done with each other yet, and that she was still in a very real danger.

_Just not from him…_

_OH, SHIT! _

A woman was still stuck in one of the cars. They accidentally happened to see her just before a cop covered her with a blanket, while stressfully glancing up at them as they hurried by. Her eyes stared into eternity, and there was something odd about the angle of her neck... Sarah turned pale and wanted to throw up; the poor woman was half way decapitated, and very much dead.

Whimpering and quickly looking away, increasing her pace, she noticed that Vincent had seen the woman too, and that he didn't appear the least bothered.

Just a few more steps down the street and they entered the relative calm of her staircase. The noise from the street quieting as the door slammed shut, shutting themselves inside their own twisted world.

Sarah rushed inside her kitchen and poured a big glass of water, which she drank greedily with trembling hands.

"Shit!" She wished she hadn't seen that.

"You don't feel well?"

"No, yeah, no, it's that woman… It can be over so quickly… Life."

"Yes."

"It scares me."

"Why?"

"Why? Because… I don't know. Aren't you ever afraid?"

"No."

"Not even of dying… alone?" Her worst fear - and the only thing in life she was certain of that she would have to experience – to die alone and forgotten, with no one there to hold her, and to cry over her.

She shuddered, knowing she didn't have enough time.

_Time for what, Sarah? _

_Bury yourself in work, mourning the life you can never have?_

_-_

_-_

"Everybody dies alone. Doesn't bother me... Just deal with it."

No, he wasn't afraid. But he never questioned his path.

She did.

She made him do it. He almost hated her for it from time to time – the things she made him remember. But it didn't make him want to kill her. He'd never killed out of personal emotions.

_Except once…_

He'd always prided himself of not having any…

_Liar…_

Vincent carried on. "People live pathetic, lonely lives and die alone, in fear, knowing they never accomplished a thing."

"No, Vincent!" she burst out, despair visible in her eyes. "You have the wrong take on life. Nobody showed you any compassion, so you can't show it to anybody else." Grabbing hold of his hands, she squeezed them as she continued. "No one cared enough to let you stay, so you think all people live lonely lives. But you're wrong! People do live with love, and company, and have children they don't abandon."

"Who's talking, Sarah? Who's talking? You live with scars inside and out. Who ever showed you they cared? Except for taking your body?"

"You did," she answered quietly and let go of his hands. Looking down at her feet, she avoided his gaze.

_Ouch._

"Come here," he whispered.

-

-

Sarah stepped into the offered embrace, melting into him. She needed him so much that it almost scared her. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she reveled in the sensation of having him this close, of having his attention, to know that she meant something to him too.

_At least that's how it feels. God help me if I'm wrong!_

"Will you kill me, Vincent?" she whispered into his chest. She felt him twitch slightly.

"Now?"

Her heart skipped a beat at the casualness with which he said it. It frightened her. "No, not exactly now."

"That would save me some trouble, though…" He made a move as if searching for his gun.

"Not NOW!" She let go of him and rubbed her eyes with the palms of her hands. "Later…" This was so difficult to express. _How is it possible to know now how I'll feel tomorrow, or in a year from now… or some years…?_

_When I get ill. _

_When I get weak. _

_When it's time…_

"When I need you to," she said in a low voice, as if the request was too large to be spoken aloud.

Vincent raised a hand and caressed her hair. He let the pins that held it up fall to the floor, one by one, until they were all gone and he could thread his fingers through it. He liked doing that.

"You got my word."

-

-

When he kissed her, it was surprisingly sweet and undemanding. The stubble on his cheeks tickled her and she inhaled his scent, allowing her buzzing mind to rest in the moment. His hands seemed to be everywhere, touching, caressing.

Slowly.

Carefully.

Finally he lifted her and carried her to bed. As he sank down on her, Sarah froze. For a brief moment she had lost herself in her own traitorous emotions.

"Vincent, no," she mumbled into his mouth.

"I got it," he mumbled back.

"No, you don't understand, I can't."

"Sarah, I got protection, don't worry about it."

"But… but… it's not safe enough…" Her face began to crumple with despair.

Vincent let her go and lay down next to her, turned towards her. He traced the outline of her face, followed it along her jaw line and down her throat. Sarah swallowed hard under his finger. Vincent smiled.

"Billions of stars in the galaxy, Sarah… One speck on one of them for a moment, then it's over. That's us, lost in space. Do you really believe it bothers me?"

She frowned. "It bothers me."

"Roll with it, Sarah. Enjoy the moment, that's all you'll ever have. No one can tell what'll happen tomorrow. You think you're gonna die from AIDS. You don't know that. You could get run over next time you cross the street. BAM!" He clapped his hands, making her jump. "You're gone."

She looked at him, processing what he was saying. "I've never looked at it that way…"

Pinning her with his intense green eyes that seemed to flash with heat, he let his finger continue along her collar bone. Tracing the lining of the dress, and then slowly, slowly down the curve of her breast, he gave her time to adjust, time to long for more.

Then he carefully hauled her in again.

This time there was no turning back. They clung to each other like survivors to a broken life-boat. Knowing there was no one out there to rescue them.

And their pain went away.

For a while.

Sarah cried afterwards.

Content.

-

-

"No, dad."

Vincent woke, confused.

"Daddy, no, daddy."

Sarah was squirming in bed. Her forehead was shining with sweat.

"Daddy, no."

She had a childish tone to her voice that almost freaked Vincent out. He shook her. "Wake up."

"Daddy," she cried. "I'll be good." She moved her hands in front of her, as if trying to push something away.

"WAKE UP!" He shook her harder and she opened her eyes and sat straight up in bed, unseeing. For a moment she was still in another world, another time, then she looked at Vincent with big, scared eyes.

_Haunted eyes…_

"Shit," she whispered.

Vincent pressed his lips together and clenched his fists, rage building inside.

"I'm sorry… I haven't had those dreams in years…" her voice trailed off as she looked at him.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, finally able to form words again.

She snorted, slowly coming back to herself again: "What could you've done?"

He stared at her as the pain built inside. Putting the lid back on, he hissed, "More than you think. More than you think…"

_I should've known._


	14. Blissful Moments of Peace

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Vincent, I'm just borrowing him for the fun of it!

**Feedback:** Please? ;)

**-**

**Chapter 14 Blissful Moments of Peace**

At ten the next morning, the door bell rang.

First once. Then a second time, with an annoyingly persistent sound. Sarah mumbled something incoherent and turned in her sheets, not wanting to wake up, but Vincent was immediately alerted and out of bed.

When she noticed his activities, she opened one eye and was wide awake the next moment when she realized he'd not only gotten dressed, but also had the gun in his hand.

"Who is it?" he whispered.

"I don't know. Should I open?" she whispered back.

"You have to. You're at home because you're sick. Remember?"

"Jesus. OK." She dragged herself out of bed and pulled an old t-shirt over her head, not noticing it had green stains on its back. The bell rang again. "I'm coming," she shouted and found a pair of soft pants to wear.

Sarah didn't get nervous until Vincent placed himself out of sight from the doorway, with the gun ready. _What's he doing?_

"Who is it?" she called through the door, her voice still rough from the sleep and adding to the illusion of being sick.

"It's Mia."

_Mia!_

"Just a moment, I'm getting dressed," she shouted. Then she mouthed to Vincent: "What do I do?"

He gestured for her to come closer.

"You open, see what she wants. Act normal, remember you're ill. Don't make her suspicious. Who is she?"

"I work with her."

"OK, maybe she wants to check on you. Go." He ushered her away.

Sarah unlocked the door and opened it a crack. Outside was a well known sight: Mia, a sweet twenty year old with whom she had worked for the last year.

_What's she doing here?_

She belonged to Sarah's other life, her previous life. _No, my real life…_Sarah corrected herself; not really knowing what was real any more.

"Hi, Mia," she greeted with a broken voice, trying to get a grip of the situation.

"Oh, you poor thing! You look terrible, Sarah. I'm so sorry to disturb you, but I came with this." She held up Sarah's bag, the one she'd left at work, and completely forgotten about since. "Figured you'd need it." She fired off a friendly smile.

All the time, Sarah could see Vincent in the corner of her eye, standing absolutely still with the gun in one hand by the bench in the kitchen.

"Thanks, Mia." She stretched out a hand to get the bag. "I didn't feel well when I left, I had completely forgotten about it."

"You're welcome. By the way… do you know anything about the door… you know, to the kitchen?"

Sarah felt her knees weaken. _Oh my God! _She cast a brief glance at Vincent, who didn't move a muscle. He didn't need to; his intentions were as clear as they could be.

Making up the lie as she spoke, she mumbled, "Door? It was gone when I came, I just assumed it was broken or something…"

"Maybe…" Mia looked doubtful, or at least that's how Sarah's wound-up brain interpreted it, then she shrugged. "OK," she said lightly. "I won't bother you any more. Take care - and Pete wants you to call when you get better."

"I will… I'm sorry I have to get back to bed now…" Sarah made an effort to appear exhausted.

"I can see that! See you, sweetie. Bye"

"Bye," she whispered and closed the door before she sank to the floor, trembling.

"You did well." Vincent walked up to her and helped her on her feet.

He didn't let her go immediately, and as they looked at each other, Vincent's serious features lightened into a smile, at first friendly, then slowly transforming into a slightly predatory grin. His grip around her waist tightened, which caused her skin to tingle.

He felt her sudden intake of air as he held her. Pressing her firmly to his chest, he let his hands wander, igniting the fire all over again.

-

-

Later they ate.

-

-

There seemed to be no rush. As the beams from the sun, shining through her bedroom window, slowly wandered across the walls of the apartment, time stood almost still.

For a moment in eternity, two people were content with just being.

At ease.

Sarah fell asleep in Vincent's arms, as they sat in her sofa in the early afternoon of their second day together.

She felt safe and happy for the first time in years.

-

-

When she woke, she was tied up again, and she almost panicked this time.

_No-no-no-no! I can't breathe, I can't – breathe… _

The impact of the mistrust and the betrayal of their growing friendship hurt more - much more - than the fact that she was physically attached to the sofa. He hadn't said a word about leaving before she fell asleep. Why had he left? Why was she bound? Didn't he trust her? Sarah felt degraded, treated like a dog, like a victim.

_Like the victim you are. _

_Shut up!_

She tugged at the strips, helplessly fighting for her freedom and sanity and almost dislocated her shoulder in the struggle, but they didn't budge.

_What if he doesn't come back?_

Exhausted, she cried some, and then finally curled up and fell asleep again.

-

-

The door clicked shut, and Sarah jolted out of her sleep. She tried to stand up, but fell back onto the sofa, pulled by the tied-up wrist.

"Get me the fuck out of this!" she yelled as soon as she saw him.

"Relax, relax," he soothed. "Had to leave for a while." He flipped open his switchblade and cut her loose.

Sarah glanced at her watch; he'd been gone for nearly two hours.

"Don't you trust me not to leave? You could've just told me you'd be gone for a while. I would've been here."

"No, Sarah. It doesn't work that way."

"I trust you with my life, for Christ's sake!" she burst out. "Can't you trust me not to run away?"

"Well… you don't have a choice. Do you, Sarah?" he grinned.

_No…_

Sarah massaged her aching wrists and was startled as Vincent caught her arm in his hand. "What have you done?" he asked sharply and frowned.

Looking down at the bruised wrist that had indentations after the strip along with some dried blood, she slowly pulled her arm out of his grip and responded in a low voice, "I – tried…"

"Don't." He shook his head. "We don't need to have this discussion. I've got things to do. I came with this." He held up a bag from a Chinese take-away.

Sarah pouted, but had to admit she was hungry. The aroma from the bag made her stomach roar.

They ate in silence. Meals generally seemed to bring out the worst in them. _No, not true, breakfast this morning was magic. _Sarah smiled inwardly at the memory.

When they were done, Sarah tucked away the leftovers. As she turned around she found that Vincent stood impassively, watching her.

_-_

_-_

_Work's waiting._

"Gotta go," he said just a bit wary, as if expecting her to have a fit.

She did.

"OK," she said between clenched teeth, and turned away from him. He sighed.

"Unless you prefer to stand for a few hours, I suggest you go sit on the couch."

"You're not tying me up again," she almost growled, turning to look wild-eyed at him.

_Unbelievable!_

Vincent walked up to her, clearly irritated. "I don't have time for this bullshit." He gripped for her arm, but she jumped away. Cornered, however, in the small kitchen, he easily caught her and dragged her towards the sofa.

Sarah dug her heels into the carpet and threw herself backwards, out of his grip. "Don't," she gasped. "I can't stand it, don't! Please!"

Vincent dropped her, as she slipped out of his grip from the unexpected force with which she fought him. As she fell on her hands and knees by his feet, it was obvious who would win this battle.

"Sarah!" he hissed warningly. "You're pissing me off!" He pulled her to her feet, and his grip was much harder this time, bruisingly hard. He was in working mode now, and there was no time for begging, no room for patience.

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she squealed and pleaded with him not to tie her up again.

Vincent's nostrils flared with anger and his eyes burned with an inner rage as he held her face to face with him. He wanted to crush her at that moment; his hands around her thin upper arms ached to break her.

_I don't have time for this SHIT!_

Sarah opened her mouth to say something, but sensed the danger and snapped it shut again.

He bared his teeth and considered her for some endless moments, then he shoved her towards the door instead.

_Suit yourself!_

"Get your shoes. We're going out."

-


	15. Survival Strategies

**Disclaimer: **Don't own, please don't sue.

**Author's note/Feedback: **Yes, Please. I love the feedback. And thanks a lot for sticking with me through all this. There are not so many chapters left now. First we are going to get some action, then Vincent and Sarah have some unfinished business – and some trust issues – to deal with.

And this chapter hasn't been betad, so if you find anything weird in it, typos and stuff, please let me know.

_**Love/Nicolina.**_

**-**

**Chapter 15 Survival Strategies**

They sat in silence as the taxi sped through the dense late afternoon traffic. Sarah was nervous and fiddled with the hem of her shirt. She didn't know what to expect. All the time, she kept glancing at the man sitting next to her.

_The stranger. _

Vincent had, rather harshly, pulled her with him out on the street, hailed a cab and pushed her inside before he jumped in himself. He'd brought his bag, and had been assembling a weapon quietly in his lap, out of sight for the driver. Now he held the gun loosely with one hand and rummaged around for clips with the other, stuffing several in his pockets. He checked something on a small computer before stuffing it back into the bag.

Finally he went still, the gun with the attached silencer resting on his thigh. He sat straight and looked out the front without moving a muscle. Yet he seemed tensed, ready for action.

Fascinated and full of dread, she had followed his silent and thorough preparations. Sarah shuddered; she had begun to recognize the pattern. Before he'd strike, he always seemed to calm down, to focus; not wasting energy on unnecessary talking or movements.

Looking at his watch, and then out at the street, he turned to her.

"When we get there, you do what I tell you and when I tell you. Stay a few paces behind me and out of my way."

Sarah swallowed hard and nodded. "I will."

She realized he had brought her to the showdown.

'_I intend to free you of the contract.' _Shaking with fear, she knew instinctively what was about to happen. Her consciousness just hadn't caught up yet. There was no way she could grasp that they were on their way to find the person, or persons, that had signed Vincent up to kill her. She still had no clue what so ever to why someone wanted her dead.

_I'm already fucking dying any way!_

-

-

One of the main reasons why Vincent was such a successful assassin was that he never hesitated. He never wanted to talk, explain or brag, there were no chances of bribing or flirting or in any other way try to squirm out of sight from his barrel.

Most of his victims never even saw the gun, and were dead before their bodies hit the ground.

Another reason was of course that he was a perfect gun-man, one with his weapon; his bullets always hit exactly were he aimed.

Which brought him to the fact that he HAD missed Sarah… She'd had the time to dodge.

_That… never happens…_

The only explanation he could think of was that he HAD recognized her, subconsciously, and that he DID hesitate that little fragment of a second she'd needed to dodge and hide.

He couldn't help wondering where he would've been now if she hadn't dodged. That wasn't a difficult question. He'd be - probably this very evening - meeting with his next set of hits…

_Well, I'm not, and this is much more fun!_

The adrenaline surged through his body, his senses heightened.

He felt alive.

Expanding his lungs with a deep breath and letting it out again, he cleared his mind and focused on his task.

This was what he did the best.

-

-

When the taxi finally stopped in front of a warehouse down at the harbor, Sarah's nervousness peaked. Feeling like she needed to perform an impossible task, without even knowing what was expected from her, she stumbled in Vincent's footsteps as he determinedly strode forwards. He had tucked the gun in under his jacket, taken his bag and paid off the taxi driver.

They rounded a corner and stood in front of an anonymous entrance in what looked like an abandoned building. Vincent pulled out his gun and unsecured it as he kept walking, she heard the little click. Sarah's knees felt like jelly, but she stayed a few steps behind, just like he'd said. He seemed to know exactly where he was going.

_He's been here before! That's what he was doing when he was gone: he's been checking this place up._

Somewhere in the distance a blow from a ships horn was heard and a seagull was saluting in the sky.

Vincent opened the door and shot the guard inside with three shots. _Poff-poff. Poff. _Sarah jerked from the shock and covered her mouth, preventing the scream that wanted to escape. Vincent had already moved forward. Dropping his bag in a corner of the foyer as he went, she still had to keep up her pace to stay in his tracks.

In the stairs to the second floor, they met another man. He began fumbling with his pockets - _p__off-poff-poff -_ his lifeless body hit the floor before he even had a fair chance.

Sarah had to press herself to the wall to avoid him as he came rolling past her. Her eyes filled with tears, and she needed to throw up. Half blind, she almost bumped into the back of Vincent, as he had stopped by a corner. He gave her an irritated glance and turned away again. The look in his eyes made her shiver; he didn't need his gun, just that look from him would be sufficient.

_Deadly._

Vincent sunk down on one knee, gun ready, and peeked around the corner. Then he continued through the length of the corridor.

Sarah snuck behind him on shaky legs, three - four paces, like he'd said.

There were voices coming from a room further down the hallway, Vincent was quietly testing out each door they passed as they advanced. Most were locked, one opened, and he silently pushed it open all the way with a raised gun, but the room was black and apparently empty.

Intellectually, Sarah knew what was happening, but emotionally she was unable to grasp the situation. She lacked the experience to handle it, not knowing where she'd stash the information her brain received as she saw Vincent kill those two men. He frightened her to no end. She had thought he had changed somehow, because he'd told her he wouldn't kill her. Now she had to accept that she really didn't know him at all, that this was probably the "true" Vincent.

_If there is such a thing._

Her heart sped up alarmingly as they stood outside the closed door. Vincent was still for a moment, seemingly listening, calculating. Sarah didn't move a muscle.

Before any of them could move, the door suddenly flung open and a tall, laughing man exited. As he saw Vincent, his mouth formed an "O", before he sunk to the floor. _Poff. Poff-poff. _Vincent threw himself through the open door and to the left.

Sarah lost sight of him and had no intention of looking. She heard men screaming and gunfire. Scrambling on her hands and knees over the floor, she lay down and covered her head with her hands, just on the other side of the wall, trembling, unable to move, or to even breathe. Every gunshot reverberated violently through her body. She couldn't hear Vincent firing at all; the only thing that was heard was the loud bangs from other weapons.

_What am I doing here? Why did I insist?_ She regretted the last thing terribly now. All was lost.

Realizing it had gone quiet; she slowly lifted her head, but saw only the dirty window at the end of the corridor.

Then she heard voices.

Calm voices.

_He's dead! I'm dea-_

"SARAH!" His voice was frighteningly sharp and with a dangerous edge she hadn't heard before. It made her immediately stand up, as if on command. There was no way she wasn't going to obey.

Afraid of what would meet her, and even afraid of that voice, she carefully took two steps forward, willing her feet to move. Stumbling through the open door, she gasped and put her hand over her mouth in shock. First she saw the bodies; there were three of them, splayed in various positions on the floor. Then she saw the blood, some splattered over the walls and the widening pools by the bodies. It looked like butchery.

Vincent was standing at the far end of the room, holding his gun to the head of a fat man who sat by a desk. Sarah recognized him vaguely, but was unable to put two and two together at the moment, being in a state of shock over the turn of events as she was. This was not her reality. Things like this didn't happen.

Not to her.

_O, but they do..._a small, mean voice in the back of her head kept saying.

_You bring them on, Sarah; you bring misery and death in your tracks._

"Sarah," Vincent said through clenched teeth. "Meet Joe Angelo."

-


	16. From Hell

**Author's note:** This is getting close to the end now. Two chapters remain after this. Sarah has an unexpected encounter. Vincent stays – himself…

Good read. /Nic.

**-**

**Chapter 16 From Hell**

"Who?" she breathed as she hesitantly approached on legs that felt like they would give in any second.

The fat man looked at her with an angry expression in his eyes, his nostrils flared and beads of sweat had formed on his upper lip and forehead. He was dressed in a black shirt with several buttons open at the top. A thick gold chain hung around his neck. When Sarah saw his hands with the many rings on chubby fingers, her own hand flew up to her mouth as if she'd been hit. Her eyes darted up to his face again. _Oh, God!_

"You," she croaked.

Making an attempt to get up, he quickly sat back down as Vincent shoved the gun closer to his temple. Seemingly processing something, his mouth opened and closed a couple of times. A look of furious enlightenment flew over his features and he stood once more, enraged.

"You're… you're… that BITCH! BITCH!"

Vincent slammed a fist into his face and a cracking noise was heard. He fell back into his chair with blood streaming from his nose. Holding it and moaning, he looked up at Vincent.

"Who the fuck ARE you? She's supposed to be dead!" He turned to Sarah and pointed a trembling, bloodied finger at her. "You're DEAD, bitch. DEAD!"

A close encounter with Vincent's fist a second time calmed him somewhat.

Sarah glanced at Vincent after the second blow, and the look on his face made her physically ill. He looked merciless, absolutely terrifying cruel and ruthless. She began to realize that this was Vincent working, and that maybe he was two persons, one that was capable of caring and a – fairly - normal interaction with another human, and then this – machine.

_Killing machine._

"It's him, Vincent," she whispered. "It's the john who cut me. How did you know?"

"He's the one who put a contract on you," Vincent answered dispassionately.

Sarah's mind reeled. _Why?_

"Why?" She looked at Vincent and then straight at the man. _Joe. _"I haven't done anything to you."

"You should be dead you filthy little whore!" Smack. Vincent slapped him in the face.

"Watch your language, asshole."

Sarah felt a brief gratitude towards Vincent for protecting her. But as she looked up at him, she realized it was all just a power game – a way to make sure he had the man pinned in place by the mere threat. Not only from the gun, but also from attitude and superiority.

"Why do you hate me so much?" Sarah wanted to cry. What had she done to earn such a dangerous enemy?

Joe Angelo was a living picture of hate and anger at that moment. "Thirty-six months and eleven days," he spat. "That's the time I spent behind bars, thinking about what I wanted to do with you when I got out. You should have just died you fucking bitch!"

Sarah was beginning to get a little annoyed with being called bitch all the time. She really didn't deserve it, and if he hadn't tried to kill her in the first place, he wouldn't have had to spend one single day in jail. She wasn't the least sorry about having had him put away for what he did

"Well," she replied angrily. "You were fucking inefficient at that, and that's probably not the only thing you couldn't handle!" In the corner of her eye she thought she saw Vincent grin.

With a roar Joe stood once more. _Poff._ He stumbled backwards with a stupefied expression before he fell, screaming and holding his thigh, blood pouring between his fingers.

"Vincent," she breathed. "Please…" It didn't matter what he had done, she just couldn't bare the fact that Vincent would hurt him - kill him - because of her.

"Please what?" he asked coldly.

"Don't kill him, he's no-one. He's had his warning."

"Sarah, it was never your choice." Vincent looked at her with a slightly curled upper lip, as in disgust.

"Please," came a broken, sniveling voice from behind the desk. "I'm… she's right… I've been warned. I won't touch her. Come on, man, don't shoot."

_Poff-poff-poff._

Sarah let out a long hoarse wail before she stumbled backwards and turned to run. Tears were streaming down her face. She felt like she was quickly descending to hell; the walls were leaning towards her and the ceiling seemed to fall down. Like in a dream, she couldn't get her feet to move fast enough. She wished she would pass out, but that just don't seem to happen when you need it to.

She didn't get far. A firm arm gripped around her waist and she hit the floor. She tried to get up to continue on her hands and knees and managed a couple of steps with Vincent hanging on to her. Exhausted and crying, she fell forward and was unable to get up again. _I. Have. To. Go…_

Sarah wailed in agony and tried to crawl forward and away from him, but Vincent's body lay heavily on her.

_Getawayfrommegetawayfromme!_

"You're OK, Sarah, you're OK. You're safe now. I saved you."

That made Sarah squirm once more to try to shake him off her. _Safe! Hahahahahahaha!_

"You killed him! You killed him!" she moaned. Then she screamed, twisting and turning under his body to try to break free.

Vincent held her down, pinning her to the floor. Sarah could see his gun, still in his hand as he held her arm.

He shook her angrily, "I off one fat guy and you throw a hissyfit!"

"Six," she whispered.

Vincent leaned closer, "What?"

"Six... you killed six!"

"So?"

"They're dead."

"Yes, they are."

A new set of sobs wrecked Sarah's body, and she hid her face, not wanting to see him.

She gasped and let out a whimper as Vincent grabbed her by the collar and pulled her up from her prone position. Still holding her shirt, he pushed her back forcefully into the wall. His face was a frightening picture of both raging heat and ice cold stone.

"I save you from an asshole that put a contract on you, and all you do is whine? What the fuck's the matter with you?" he snarled.

Sarah stifled a sob and didn't dare to look at him.

-

-

He was about to shake her again, but something stopped him. Looking at her tear-drenched frightened eyes - staring at him in dread - and her pale face, he began to realize that she didn't feel all that well. Perhaps this had been a bit too much for her. His working mode was wearing off, and he slowly began to see things differently.

_Fuck._

"Shouldn't have brought you," he mumbled and abruptly let her loose.

Sarah stood and swayed, looking like she would faint any second. Vincent took her arm in a firm grip and pulled her with him. "We need to get out of here. This is not the place to linger."

She nodded. _Good._ Something seemed to get through to her then.

Walking calmly through the echoing corridor, they left the mayhem behind. As they stepped over the last body at the entrance Sarah almost stumbled, but Vincent's steady hand held her. He collected his bag and they left - twenty-three minutes after they had entered.

Then they simply never stopped walking. Leaving the warehouse, they set off in the direction of the wind. Towards the harbor, where the seagulls flew high in the sky, shrieking in joy over their freedom. Ships were being loaded with goods that would see the shores of distant nations within a few weeks.

Ordinary life - so distant from theirs.

Vincent had never let go of her arm, and Sarah didn't object. She kept walking numbly next to him, stumbling on her weak legs, supported by Vincent.

He should leave. He really should get going, but Sarah's fingers clasped with white knuckles at the fabric covering his arm, and he couldn't.

Not just yet.

-

-

"Are you with me, Sarah?"

Sarah was fighting desperately to lock it in – her inner darkness – it threatened to swallow her at this very moment. The feeling of loneliness, of not belonging to this world was eating her alive. And it hurt like hell. _I don't want it to hurt. Make the hurt go away!_ Through her haze, she heard a distant voice. 'Are you with me?'

_With whom?_

_I'm not here, I'm everywhere, nowhere_...

_I should be dead. _

_I'm overdue._

They stopped. Someone was shaking her mildly, gripping her chin, forcing her out of her bubble.

"Sarah!"

-

-

Those empty eyes.

Always her eyes. He should have recognized her during his preps for this hit. He should have recognized those eyes. Twenty-three years had passed, though, and he considered it a forgiving fact that she'd been only nine the last time he'd seen her.

She wasn't coping at this very moment, she was retracting. _I haven't done all of this just to leave her behind as a wreck. Fuck!_

"Sarah!" He forced her to look at him. "Look at me!"

She did look, but through him, into nowhere.

Vincent slapped her. Nothing. He slapped her again. Nothing. He lifted his hand to give her yet another -s_mack! – _Sarah slapped him. Stunned he touched his cheek.

Anger was seeping through her gaze and she said in a low, controlled voice, "Stop hitting me for fuck's sake!"

The corner of his mouth lifted in half a smile.

_She's back._

"Needed you to get out of your self-induced coma before you'd stop breathing. We'd be a suspicious looking couple if I had to drag you around."

-

-

Sarah slowly shook her head. She was beginning to get angry, and maybe that was a good thing; it took her mind off what she'd just had to witness.

"What's wrong with you, Vincent?"

"What do you mean, 'wrong'?"

"How can you kill people so cold-blooded?"

"By 'cold-blooded' you're implying there's no reason. There's always a reason. I'm not cold-blooded."

Frustrated she wanted to kick him until he got it. "People, Vincent! Humans. They have mothers and fathers and children and mortgages and dogs and friends. People care about other people; you're hurting them – us…"

Vincent jerked at that last word. His eyes narrowed marginally and his lips twitched. When he spoke, he said it slowly, as if making his point very clear. "I. Have. Never. Hurt. You. Sarah."

"Yes… and no." She licked her lips and tried to decide which way to pursue this matter. "You have – almost – not laid your hand on me… and I'm still alive. But you hurt me terribly all those times I thought you were going to kill me." She studied his face. "You don't know, do you? You just don't understand."

Sarah wanted to cry all of a sudden. Not for her, but for him. She took his tie in her hand and fiddled with it. She really wanted to caress him, to embrace this lost man and give him some warmth, but didn't dare.

"What hurt you so much, Vincent? What killed your soul?"

-


	17. Would You Notice

-

**Chapter 17 Would You Notice?**

'_What killed you soul?'_

He snorted.

_A little melodramatic, aren't we?_

Vincent hadn't said another word to Sarah as they walked back into town. He was just going to get his things at Sarah's and then he'd be gone.

That was all there was to it.

She'd be OK now. His work here was done. Sarah would be safe.

_Right._

_-_

_-_

_What motivates him? How can he live this way? What made him go down this road - so far, far away from anything even close to what most people would call normal?_

Sarah needed to know. If she was ever to come out of this experience in one piece, mentally, she needed some answers. If there were no answers, there was no hope. She couldn't keep on living, knowing that this black hole of a man wandered the earth. It would slowly eat her; poison her mind, her soul. He would always be there, because he was a part of her past and now he was responsible for her future.

And if there was no hope… then what was to become of the rest of her life? What would've been the reason for her to live through this ordeal?

She'd be in debt, but to what? To whom?

They walked on, but Sarah needed to stop. A wave of nausea washed over her. Trembling, she gripped for Vincent for support.

She had to be strong; she didn't want to crumble in front of him again.

_Get a grip! Straighten up!_

Seeing people getting killed before her very eyes wasn't normal. Not to her. Not to anyone. Shouldn't be, at least.

_How can he?_

"Vincent."

He finally stopped.

"I feel sick."

"Breathe, Sarah." He gripped her shoulders and looked her in the eyes. "You're doing fine. Actually, you're doing great. Breathe, and it will pass. OK?"

Pressing white lips tightly together, she nodded and fought the nausea that threatened to overwhelm her.

"Help me home," she whispered.

-

_-_

They had made some tea, and Sarah had put on some music. She was sitting on her sofa with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, sipping at the hot, strong liquid. Vincent's cup remained untouched. He'd been avoiding her gaze since they got back.

She was still cold. The chill on the inside refused to leave her. She knew something was terribly wrong with Vincent, and she HAD to find out what it was, even if it scared the hell out of her.

Vincent sat next to her, obviously uncomfortable, at the edge of the cushion.

"Vincent, what happened to you?What turned you into this?"

He didn't react, and she abruptly put her cup down and gripped his shoulders, trying to make him look at her again. He had the strangest look in his eyes, they were darker than she'd ever seen them, and looked hollow somehow.

_Like entrances to hell._

Vincent rose abruptly and began pacing the room in front of her. He looked like a caged tiger_, a white tiger,_ ready to bolt at any moment. He behaved like he was in withdrawal, except that his gaze wasn't dull and dazed, it was razor sharp.

"Tell me, please. You need to tell me!" she pursued. It was unbearable to watch him. _Tell me, Vincent; let it out, whatever it is. You don't have to be alone. _

All of a sudden he sat down on the low table in front of her. It creaked under his weight. Cornering her in the sofa and pinning her with his hypnotizing eyes, he narrowed them as he spoke.

"I don't need to tell you shit, Sarah. You don't want to know."

"I do," she pushed on. Ignorant to the fact that in front of her sat the most dangerous man she was ever likely to encounter. "I'm not gonna stop until you tell. Come on, you need it too, I know you do!"

"Playing Dr Phil, are we?" he sneered, unexpectedly raising his voice.

She gaped, but snapped her mouth shut again; the venom with which he had said it was a new element in their relation. She'd been the one doing the fighting and screaming. Not him; he'd stayed unnaturally controlled for the most parts. Suddenly he stood, his dark eyes fired up and his nostrils flared in rage. Sarah stood too, backing away from him and maneuvering herself towards the front door, afraid all of a sudden. This Vincent she didn't know, couldn't predict.

"You wanna know? Wanna know who I really am?" he roared, following her, gripping around her throat and making her gasp in fear. "I'll show you!"

He shook her violently and threw her away from him so hard her head hit the wall. Sarah produced a half strangled squeak, bit her tongue enough to draw blood and slithered to her knees.

When he sank down in front of her, the fury was gone as abruptly as it had appeared.

-

-

"I'm sorry, Sarah, I'm so sorry."

His heart pounded wildly in his chest and he had a metallic taste in his mouth._ Never wanted to hurt her. FUCK! I gotta leave before… before she makes me do something I'll regret… _He'd lost it there for a second, and he was afraid it might happen again. Her presence did something to him; it opened carefully closed and locked compartments within him.

It was dangerous.

Lethal.

He cupped her cheeks in his palms and tried to make her look at him. Sarah gripped his hands with hers and looked up at him with tear-drenched eyes.

Biting her bloodied teeth together, she whispered in a broken voice. "Take me to your world, Vincent. Let me in!" The desperation and need in her eyes told him of painful loneliness, and an understanding beyond his comprehension. He nodded to himself and stood, taking a step back.

In some odd way she knew more of his life, the dark, fearful past he'd been so careful to hide, than she even understood herself.

Yet.

Her past intermingled with his. They were cut from the same stem.

Shredded.

Broken.

Just barely hanging on.

He realized that he could tell her.

_Then maybe she'll know she isn't alone…_

Vincent let out a deep sigh of both relief and a kind of frightening anticipation he hadn't experienced before; a foreboding of pain.

And finally he told her.

For hours he spoke of the abuse, the violence and the fear. How there had been no one to stop his father when he had gotten angry, when the alcohol had dulled his compassion and sense. How he'd used to beat his son unconscious and then call school the next day and tell them he was sick, to give the bruises some time to heal. How he'd used to come in to his room at night to violate him. How he every time the social services had taken him away had sobered up until he'd had him back and then it had gotten worse.

All until the day Vincent had been old enough to strike back.

At twelve, he'd killed him.

He had gotten a gun from a kid at school. By shooting his father in the groin, he'd started with a place that wouldn't kill him at once. Vincent had watched, fascinated by his new power, how the fucker had writhed in pain on the floor as the pool of blood between his legs had grown wider. Then he'd beaten him.

To death.

After he'd washed himself and got rid of the gun. He'd called the cops, crying, saying someone had broken into their house and that there had been a terrible fight. Something about a woman.

They had never had a clue. He had been twelve.

Going on thirty.

Sarah cried and cried. She had never believed it had been that bad. How had he survived? She asked, and he told her more. Finally they were silent in the blessed knowledge that someone else knew, that someone shared their secrets.

Making them less filthy.

Less dark.

-

-

To his surprise, Vincent felt cleansed.

Yeah, he had told Max once, in the cab. But then he had laughed and joked it away. What twelve year old does that?

But now, this, was different.

He didn't object as Sarah crawled closer on hands and knees. They had remained sitting on the floor, unable to move to a more comfortable position. As if a painful story demanded a painful position.

Vincent closed his eyes as Sarah carefully caressed his cheek, followed the curve of his grayish eyebrows with the tip of her finger, lay her palm against his cheek, leaned over and kissed his eyelids, first one and then the other.

He reveled in the sensation of giving in, of trust, of being close in a way he had never experienced in his whole life. When she gently kissed his closed lips he accepted the gift, knowing she didn't ask for anything back.

Slowly, they sank to the floor; Sarah held him in her arms and rocked his body like a baby, with tender, careful movements.

She didn't stop, she didn't get tired, and she didn't want to talk about herself.

Exhausted, he finally he relaxed in her arms, and as the morning broke on the third day, they fell asleep there, on the floor in Sarah's small living room, with a CD playing on repeat softly in the background.

And the city woke to yet another day.

-


	18. Wonders Of A Wounded Mind

**Author's note: **So, I'm finally finishing this story about lost souls, a disastrous meeting, a match made in hell and about love, humanity and what it means to be human. I want to thank you all who have been reading this fic, and obviously appreciating it enough to keep checking out each new chapter. I hope you will find the end to be a satisfying resolution.

I also want to thank my brilliant beta reader, Romany. Without you, this wouldn't have been half as good as it turned out. _:blows kisses:_

**_I wouldn't mind at all to hear your opinion about this story, anything from small to big thoughts. I've laid my heart in it. And I've loved getting to know Sarah and Vincent, and I wish them all the best! ;)_**

/Nicolina.

-

**Kapitel 18 Wonders of a Wounded Mind**

Vincent stood with his back to the room, staring out at the pale light of dawn, watching the city burst alive. It was like a living organism, with a mind of its own. He knew it was a cruel world. And only now he realized he'd helped to make it even darker. That he'd turned it into his own twisted playground for getting back at it.

Avenging his life – or lack of life.

Faces of people he'd never known flashed before his eyes. They refused to leave him alone.

And they were all dead.

_By my hands._

It was mere coincidence that he'd failed with Sarah…

Or was it? Had there been a deeper meaning?

He hadn't considered his choice of occupation for many, many years. Perhaps never. It had suited him perfectly and he'd seen other people as trash anyway. He'd never seen anyone that he'd thought of as innocent or worthy of living, and even if he had ever pitied someone, he still wouldn't have hesitated. He'd stopped feeling anything way back, when he was still a child.

Sarah had seen him. And he had seen Sarah.

Suddenly someone had meant something.

And what he had seen hurt him. He hurt for himself and the boy he'd once been, and he hurt for her; for her lost years and her lack of a future.

Vincent frowned as he stared at the flaming orange and red horizon, beautifully drawn by the polluted sky in the rising sun.

All of it was too much for now.

He needed some time alone. To figure things out.

He crouched next to Sarah. She slept peacefully on the floor. He'd put a pillow under her head and laid a blanket over her earlier, when he'd woken up. Shaking her gently, he said in a low voice, "I need to leave. There's some coffee and toast in the kitchen."

-

-

Sarah flew up from the floor, her eyes wide and confused. She'd feared this. She'd even dreamt it just now.

She stood in front of him, swaying, and with a pained expression on her face.

"Stay." The thought of being alone again scared her more than death. To lose him now that she'd had him so close would make her more lost than she'd ever been before he had re-appeared in her life.

"I can't. You know that." He sighed slightly. "I don't love you, Sarah." He stroked her cheek with the palm of his hand. "And even if I did, I could never attach myself to you… or to anyone." He laughed, somewhat bitterly. "Can you see me as a family man?"

'_I don't love you…' _

A throbbing ache spread from the center of her chest and radiated out through her body at his words; she felt cold, lost...

"I don't mean family, Vincent." She choked on her words as tears started to spill from her eyes. "I won't have kids, you know that! Just you and me. Just us…" Her voice trailed off. She looked at him pleadingly. "I need you," she whispered, staring at her own feet in defeat, as if the request was so big that she couldn't look him straight in the face. "Please don't leave."

She needed him so badly.

_He can't leave!_

-

-

Vincent felt truly sorry for her.

He did care, probably enough to even stay around for a while, but he didn't want to. It was true what he'd said: he could never attach himself, and he'd hurt her more by giving her false hopes.

He never used to stay in one place for long. He needed to keep moving, never knowing what would happen or where he'd be the next day.

Vincent really didn't know where he would be the next day.

His next contract had been lost during his hibernation at Sarah's, and for the first time in many years he didn't have a pre-determined schedule. Dropping out of a contract without any kind of explanation wasn't a smart move. He was most likely blown in the business and would have to fight like hell to be able to get back his position.

_Get back?_

He wasn't so sure any more about what he wanted to do next. Sarah had awoken something in him. That little lingering humanity he'd thought had been gone forever, to the point that he'd barely considered the issue, was suddenly itching deep inside of him.

Like scar tissue.

And it felt… _good…?_

It didn't feel entirely normal.

_What's 'normal' anyway?_

"I need to be going. Come here." He pulled her towards him and embraced her. The hug was tender, and in it he gave her all the affection he could muster. "Don't be afraid, Sarah. You'll always have this…" He bent down and whispered in her ear as he placed a little object in her hand. Then he closed her fingers around it.

Vincent left without knowing to what or where. But he felt free.

Released.

_Thank you, Sarah. And good luck._

-

-

Sarah stood there, swaying, with an intense pain in her chest.

_He might as well have shot me, 'cause that's how it feels._

As he walked out the door, never turning around as he pulled it closed behind him, she fingered the little crumpled cartridge. It was the one he had retrieved from the floor behind the counter back at the café, and inside was a little piece of paper with a phone number written on it. He didn't get to see it, but through her tears, a weak smile appeared.

_He'll keep his promise. I'll be seeing him again – when I need him…_

She took one deep breath and let it back out.

The pain hesitated slightly before aiming another stab at her.

Then she took another breath, feeling an unexpected rush of excitement as she realized she could leave the apartment and just… _go anywhere._ The prospect of just walking down the street outside her building suddenly felt surprisingly appealing, even thrilling.

If things had turned out just a little differently, she wouldn't have been around breathing that breath, or taking that simple walk.

Suddenly endlessly grateful to be alive, she turned to look at her apartment and her smile widened.

_I'm still here! I'm still fucking HERE!_

Hitting the button on her stereo, Mick Jagger's raspy voice filled the room and Sarah sang along with all her heart.

"But it's aaaall right now, in fact it's a gas. It's aaaaall right – I'm Jumping Jack Flash – it's a gas,gas,gas."

_-_

_-_

_Three years have passed and I haven't heard a word from him. I know he isn't a contract killer any more, but I don't know much else. I heard he's traveling, and I got some news that he'd been seen at the street where I grew up… I don't know what he did there. Maybe the place means more to him now. _

_There are a lot of things that mean more now._

_He'll come for me. A phone call, and he'll come for me. _

_I know I won't have to suffer. _

_Few are that lucky. _

_For now, I'll live. He gave me my life back. _

_And I will live! _

_I've changed. _

_Those three nights made me realize that I wasn't living. Now I breathe, move and feel. I swim in the ocean and take long walks on the beach, enjoying the breeze in my hair, the sun on my skin…_

_In these last years I'll have, life has become so valuable, so precious. _

_He will come for me, and I will greet him._

_It's his gift to me._

_I owe him my life._

_-_

_-_

_I will be his last contract._

-

-

THE END


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